


Play It Again

by sakkakitty



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Background Stony - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Deaf Clint Barton, M/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Pre-Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Time Travel, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, WinterHawk Big Bang 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 00:13:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 100,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15206579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakkakitty/pseuds/sakkakitty
Summary: After a mix-up in a Hydra base, Bucky Barnes finds himself transported to the 21st century.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!  
> This is my submission for the 2018 Winterhawk Big Bang! I am so thrilled to post this monster after working so hard on it for so long!
> 
> So many many thanks to my beta [wrywrybutterfly](http://wrywrybutterfly.tumblr.com/) and a super huge thanks to [stealthsuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stealthsuit/pseuds/stealthsuit), who was there for me to bounce ideas off of constantly!
> 
> The artist I collaborated with is incredible and you can find her art [here](https://megara-arts.tumblr.com/post/175674230319/) and her tumblr [here](http://megara-arts.tumblr.com/)! Make sure to send her lots of love!!!!
> 
> Thanks, and enjoy!

_Czechoslovakia, February 1944, 2300_

Bucky had determined that it was too damn cold for this shit.

He wasn’t sure if _this shit_ was the Hydra agent currently pointing a rocket launcher at their faces or the fact that Steve had been right. _Again._

Bucky was pretty certain if he moved to look at Steve he would have his brows furrowed in that mildly disapproving way he had perfected over the years. He sure did miss the days when slapping him upside his dumb blond head did _something_ to the punk _._ Bucky would be an idiot if he tried to put Steve in a headlock now. He still had his dignity.

Well most of his dignity. He had essentially been caught with his pants ‘round his ankles along with the rest of the Howling Commandos. He could feel Steve shifting next to him, quietly assessing the situation and already searching for a way out.

_“Still stehen!”_

Bucky felt his stomach begin to turn with slight unease; the agent was trembling slightly. Bucky was quite certain this had been a set up, if the way they had been surrounded so quickly was any indication. And if that was the case, there was no reason for the novice-like fear emanating from the Hydra agent.

Not that he was complaining. Not being shot at was nice.

_“Ihn.”_

The stoic commander standing next to the agent pointed at Bucky, his voice steady and his eyes hard. Bucky set his jaw, tilting his chin up slightly as he braced for an attack. There was no way in hell he was getting dragged off to play experiment again without a fight.

Steve echoed the sentiment, his gloves creaking as he tightened them against his shield. But there were no moves made. Instead, the nervous agent simply raised the large weapon balanced on his shoulder and took aim.

Faster than Bucky could process, Steve was hurling his shield, but Bucky never saw it hit his target. Bucky was already in the process of ducking and rolling, but the gun didn’t fire a bullet. It didn’t even fire a rocket launcher. There was a flash of burning yellow light, and the feeling of the ground going out from beneath his feet. He thought he could hear Steve shouting. For a fleeting few seconds, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

And then, there was nothing at all.

****

Clint narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips slightly as he took aim. He had abandoned his show quite quickly after discovering a more satisfying way to waste his time. The distraction was welcome, even if it did annoy him slightly. That shit was loud.

He quickly flicked the peanut across the room, watching as it soared across the room and landed with a soft noise in Tony’s open mouth. He resisted the urge to crow his victory, worried that he would wake up his source of entertainment, and instead settled on pumping his fist aggressively in the air. He wished someone was there to see that. Although, JARVIS watched everything, so perhaps he was appreciating Clint’s prowess.

He couldn’t resist the tiny snicker that slipped out as the next peanut hit Tony’s teeth with a little clack before falling into his mouth. The droning snore paused for a moment, before continuing.

Clint readied another peanut, smirking confidently, before pausing as Steve entered the room. The man was looking around, a slightly concerned look on his face, before it relaxed into something suspiciously mushy when he laid eyes on Tony’s prone form.

Clint grinned at the other man when he finally looked over at him. Finally, an audience. Steve looked mildly confused, but that expression quickly melted to exasperation when Clint successfully landed another peanut into Tony’s mouth.

“You’re going to choke him,” Steve said, his voice quiet as if he was really worried about waking Tony up over the sound of his own snoring. Clint rolled his eyes but dutifully stuck the next peanut in his own mouth, watching as Steve carefully eased the tablet out of Tony’s limp hand and slid one hand under the smaller man’s knees and one underneath his back.

As soon as Steve began to stand, Tony flailed, waking up groggily and moaning in protest. He made a confused noise, before spitting the peanuts out of his mouth.

“Wha’ the fuck? Steve? Are you carrying me? Were those peanuts in my mouth? There are so many things happening here without my consent,” he said, struggling to sit up in Steve’s arms, clearly to Steve’s poorly masked amusement.

Clint snorted, leaning further back on the couch and waving lazily when Tony’s mildly sleepy gaze slid over to him. Tony rolled his eyes.

“Of course it’s Barton. Put me down Rogers, I’m not two,” Tony demanded, suddenly very awake. But Steve didn’t relent, instead starting towards the elevator.

“With the way you act, I’m surprised anyone believes that,” Steve replied solemnly, but he couldn’t quiet stop the corner of his mouth hitching up, especially when Tony dug his elbow into his shoulder viciously.

“I’m kicking you out. You let Barton put nonconsensual peanuts in my mouth while I was vulnerable and now your trying to carry me across the threshold. God, do you really have to be so strong?” Tony complained. Clint couldn’t pick up Steve’s reply as the elevator doors slid shut, and he let out a sigh. There went his fun. Captain Killjoy.

Clint turned his attention back to the screen, but suddenly found it couldn’t really hold his interest. It was weird, sometimes, his desire to be as far away from everyone else in the tower as humanly possible, and the other more invasive desire to be close to them so they could put him down if needed. Nat is good at that. Any of them would be good at that. Clint groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, before rocking to his feet. That was enough of that, thank you very much.

Well, there was always the range.

*****

Clint scratched his chin with the tip of his arrow, humming slightly under his breath. He flexed his toes as he stretched his legs out on his desk, before grunting with annoyance as he looked around for his smallest screwdriver. His hands scrambled on the desk for a minute, before he let out a huff, glaring at the arrow, before pulling himself to his feet. He was sure it was hidden in here somewhere, but there was no way he was taking any changes ruining his perfect chaos.

Toeing around a pile of dirty clothes, Clint snagged his hearing aids off of his end table and fit them into his ears. He would really rather not go visit Tony’s workshop, especially since he had finally managed to clear his head enough to work on some of the ideas for new kinds of arrows rattling around in his head, but he knew he if he didn’t go grovel for a screwdriver, he would end up laying on his couch and feeling sorry for himself and that was just, no.

He padded down to the elevator, his bare feet cold against the tiles of the floor. He shuddered a little bit, remembering how cold it was, deep in his chest and so blue-

Clint pushed the button for the workshop, shifting from foot to foot to work some heat back into his muscles and regretting not putting on proper pants. When he walked inside, he caught sight of Bruce and Tony hunched over in front of one of Tony’s desks, both muttering under their breath. Steve was sitting in the corner, sketchbook laying forgotten in his lap as he watched the two other men talk quickly over whatever screen they were looking at.

Tony’s head shot up when Clint entered, and he pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes slightly. “I don’t know who invited you to this party, Barton, but I have one too many distractions in my workshop right now. Please go find someone else to play with, the adults are working,” he said, waving his hand dismissively as he turned back to the screen.

“Keep your pants on Stark, just trying to make your job easier,” Clint replied easily as he began to rifle through one of Tony’s drawers. He heard Tony grumbling a little bit at the complete lack of respect for his space, but he was already back absorbed in his data. Bruce hadn’t seemed bothered by the intrusion at all still bent over the readings in front of him.

“These readings just don’t make any sense. I’ve never seen anything like this,” Bruce murmured quietly, and Clint paused in his search, twisting to watch the two men bent over the desk

“It seems to radiate out from this point right, here. It’s just a warehouse. An abandoned warehouse. That’s not suspicious!” Tony said brightly, putting his hands on his hips as he leaned back slightly. Despite the ease in Tony’s voice, Clint could read the tension along the shoulders. He let out a happy noise as his fingers finally closed around his prize.

Clint twirled the screwdriver in his fingers. This wasn’t his problem. It was probably something he wasn’t cleared for yet anyways. He turned on his heel, already allowing the snippets of the conversation he heard be replaced by the upgrades for his arrows.

And of course, then there was a clang of alarms, and Clint grimaced, slapping his hands over his ears.

“Jesus Christ, is it louder in here?!” he shouted, and Tony grinned at him, eyes wild and slightly troubled, but clearly raring for a fight.

“Shouldn’t be down here then, Legolas,” Tony called, and Clint could barely make out his words through the ridiculous noise of the Assemble alarms. Clint glared at him, but stalked out of the workshop all the same. He yanked his aids out as he went; it wasn’t like he needed them. He couldn’t go anyways, and he would really rather not hear that obnoxious alarm that reminded him of just how fucked up he was, still so fucked up he couldn’t even go burn off any of this restless energy he had building under his skin.

God, he wanted nothing more than to get back in the field, make himself useful, prove himself again… but that wasn’t today. It probably wasn’t even soon. Clint let out a breath and determinedly made his way back to his room as Steve rushed by, shield in his hand as he pulled his cowl down over his face.

He had arrows to make

****

“ _Bucky?!_ ”

Bucky took a breath, sound rushing in all at once. Steve. That was Steve. He took another breath, trying to orient himself. They had been on a mission, and they were captured, and then that _fucking weapon-_

_Okay… so not dead._

“Bucky? As in, ‘long lost war buddy from the 1940s’ Bucky?” The voice that spoke up next was unfamiliar, and tinny, as if coming in from a radio.

Bucky’s eyes shot open, suddenly realizing that he had had his eyes clenched closed tightly. He grunted a little bit at the sudden influx of light, before he jerked as information started clicking together in his mind. None of it made any damn sense.

He was standing on top of a metal catwalk, looking down on a group of people a story below him. Leading the charge was Steve, all dressed up in his nifty get up, his shield held slack at his side as he stared up at Bucky, his jaw slack.

Although Bucky felt rather disoriented and just a bit confused, he couldn’t stop himself from lifting his hand in a jaunty half salute aimed down at Steve.

“Heya Stevie-,” Bucky started, before cutting himself off as he heard bootsteps on the metal catwalk to the right of him. His head swung around, and he quickly put his hands up when he caught sight of a gun pointed in his direction. He squinted a little bit; he’d recognize that insignia anywhere, but those guns… they looked different.

Bucky really didn’t want to be blasted by another weird doodad today, as much fun as taking the last hit had been. He grimaced a little, thinking about diving forward and going for the man’s legs, when a blur pinged the Hydra agent’s fancy gun, knocking it out of his hands with a clatter. Bucky leapt forward on instinct, letting a punch fly and grinning a little when it landed. Boy, it sure had been a long time since he had gotten to let loose with just his fists as his back up.

Bucky soon realized, however, that launching himself into battle when he hadn’t fully recovered from whatever he had been hit with was a really stupid idea. He was sloppy, his ears still ringing faintly and his balance just a touch off, but that was all the agent needed to slam a fist into his chest and send him teetering back and over the railing.

Bucky couldn’t help but think about how badly Steve was gonna blow a fuse at him for getting his dumbass pushed off of the catwalk if he somehow didn’t die from this. God, this was gonna hurt-

He got the breath knocked out of him as he hit something solid, but he definitely did not touch the ground, and he made a confused noise. His eyes widened as he looked up and realized he had been caught by a man. A metal man. A metal flying man.

“ _What the fuck-_.”

“Tsk tsk, the mouth on you. Is that really any way to talk to the guy that just saved your ass? I’m hurt. I see where Cap gets his manners from,” the metal man said in his tinny voice as he flew they quickly back to the side of the good guys. Bucky couldn’t help but shake his head as he was deposited none too gently on his feet in the thick of the fight.

He swayed a little bit, but was instantly steadied by a hand on his shoulder. Bucky looked at Steve, arching an eyebrow as the man caught his shield while still staring at him, his expression hopeful and heartbroken and confused. Something was wrong. Steve looked… haunted. Completely torn. Sure, ever since the whole super soldier shebang he’d looked a little heavier under the weight of all this but… god, Steve seemed so _old._

Jesus, what was going on?

“Save the longing eye sex for later, Cap. Could use a little help here,” the metal man suddenly called out, and Steve instantly turned away, his expression hardening into something more familiar. Bucky couldn’t help but feel his shoulders relax a little bit at the expression, before he found himself getting sucked into the fight as well.

Or, he tried to. But these people were sporting equipment Bucky could only dream of. The metal man was flying still, shooting beams of light out of his hand and taking out agents left and right. There was a woman effectively cutting down Hydra agents left and right with brutal efficiency, and to the right of her a brawny blond man wielding- _Jesus, was that a hammer!?_ \- that he was slamming viciously into every agent that threw themselves at him.

And of course, there was Steve, flinging his shield and causing it to ricochet off of the walls and enemies and back into his hand. There was a moment when he brought up his shield and deflected a blast from the metal man into a crowd of them, and the relief at seeing Steve began to turn icy with dread. Steve was working with this team like he had known them for ages. Where were the rest of the Howling Commandos? Were they the only ones left?

There was a beat as the last agent went down with a thud, and for a moment, the air was still. There was the feeling of satisfaction at winning as the strangers in front of him looked over each other, and then as one, they all turned to face him.

Except Steve, who had dropped his shield as soon as the last body had hit the floor and was rushing at him. Bucky put his hands up, trying to placate the other man.

“C’mon, Stevie, I know this wasn’t my greatest-,” Bucky began, but stopped as soon as Steve threw his arms around him. Bucky stumbled back a step, before he straightened and furrowed his brows. Steve was leaning heavily into him, as if he couldn’t quite bear to be standing on his own, and Bucky hesitantly lifted a hand up to pat his back.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Uh, Steve-,” he started again, but Steve was pulling back, putting heavy hands on his shoulder and staring at him with wide eyes.

“Jesus, Buck, Bucky, what the _hell_? Where did you come from?” Steve asked, his voice cracking at the end, and Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. He eased Steve’s hands off of his shoulder, his brows furrowing and his mouth twisting with confusion.

“Where did _I_ come from?” Bucky asked incredulously. “Where did these, uh, _these_ people come from? Where are the Howling Commandos?” Bucky demanded, slightly accusatory, and he watched with a sinking feeling as Steve’s face crumpled the more he spoke. “You were right there, Steve, you saw me get shot with that thing, and suddenly you’re looking at me funny and I watched a metal fella shoot lasers out of his hands. Is that some kind of fancy new military doodad?”

Steve was looking at him, lost for words, and Bucky knew that if Steve was having trouble grasping what was coming out of his mouth, this was probably going to end poorly.

“The military couldn’t even hope to have something this well made. I’m insulted,” the metal man said, stepping up next to Steve. Steve seemed to relax slightly, and the metal man lifted a hand up to press a button on the side of his helmet. Bucky was a little surprised when the mask slid away and revealed a bright-eyed man with a goatee. He seemed oddly familiar.

The metal man clapped his hands together suddenly. “Well! I think this explains those funky readings! You are one hell of an anomaly, Barnes. I can call you Barnes, can’t I?” Bucky opened his mouth to respond, his brows furrowed, but the metal man was already turning to Steve.

“How you want to handle this one, Cap?” he asked, his voice just a touch softer than it had been a moment ago. He watched carefully as Steve sighed softly, pulling his cowl back and rubbing a hand through his sweat soaked hair. Just seeing Steve distressed, as strange as he was acting, made Bucky feel antsy.

“Can someone just tell me what the hell is going on?” he demanded, and he suddenly had both the metal man’s and Steve’s eyes on him. The metal man looked at him solemnly for a moment, before he grinned slightly and cocked his head to the side.

“Welcome to the 21st century, sergeant. Hope you packed extra underwear.”

***  
“There really wasn’t any other way you could’ve handled that-?"

  
“I had a feeling you didn’t want to say it so I did.”

  
“No- I- I wasn’t going to lie but that’s kind of a lot to just dump on someone Tony-”

  
“Listen, I’ve handled one soldier gallivanting into the future. And look, he’s loving this, no culture shock, see.”

  
Clint lifted his head up from his position sitting on the counter with his legs tucked under his thighs. JARVIS had alerted him to their arrival, and although he wanted to feel bitter about having to stay behind, he still couldn’t resist at least hearing about a badass ass beating. He paused with his spoon of cereal partially to his mouth, before he arched a brow and set his bowl down next to him as Tony and Steve walked in side by side, talking in stage whispers that weren’t really staying low enough if they were trying to prevent others from over hearing.

  
Steve’s voice was tight, and even though Tony was flinging his one hand around casually, Clint could still see a calculating glint hidden in intelligent eyes. Clint’s eyes quickly tracked over the minimal scuffs on Tony’s armor and the lack of nicks in Steve’s suit and wondered what could possibly put them in such a mood.

  
Tony caught sight of him and huffed out a breath, jostling his knee as he passed him and headed for the fridge. “Get your ass off my counter Barton, we have company,” Tony said breezily, and Clint watched as Steve’s eyebrow twitched; he couldn’t quite tell if it was from amusement or disapproval. Probably somewhere in-between.

  
Clint looked back towards the elevator hall as Thor and Nat walked in, flanking a man with a military style haircut and a sort of dazed but amazed grin. He was wearing some kind of old ass military uniform as he listened intently to whatever Thor was waxing poetically about. Clint was more interested in the piercing look Natasha was giving the stranger (who looked weirdly familiar the more Clint looked at him). Clint was used to the intensity of Natasha’s gaze and her excellent poker face, but there seemed to be something unsettling her, just barely disturbing her usual aura of calm.

  
“Picking up strays now, are we Stark?” Clint asked, keeping his ass firmly on the nice granite as his eyes caught Natasha’s. He arched an eyebrow, and she shook her head once, and he relaxed back against the counter. Nothing to worry about just then.

  
“Let you in here, didn’t I?” Tony retorted, leaning is elbows back the opposite counter, before inclining his head towards the stranger as Clint let out an affronted noise.

  
“Clint Barton, Sergent James Buch-” Tony started, and the stranger rolled his eyes a little bit, stepping forward and shoving a hand out, cutting Tony off. It made the corner of Steve’s mouth hitch up and ease something hard in his eyes.

  
“Bucky,” he said, his voice clipped, but not unkind. Clint’s eyes widened a little bit.

  
“Holy shit, like Bucky _Barnes_? what the hell, are we just collecting old ass WWII soldiers now? Are the rest of the Howling Commandos about to drop in for a chat? Where the hell are you finding all of these soldier boys?” Clint asked, blinking wide eyes as he stared at the proffered hand for a moment.

  
“Who the hell you callin’ old?” Bucky demanded, dropping his arm, and Clint grinned, holding his hands up.

  
“Generally speaking, people born in the mid-1910s are getting up there in years,” Clint responded, and Bucky shook his head, torn between offense and amusement. Steve chuckled softly, resting a big hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeezing slightly.

“You get used to it,” he said softly, fondly, and Clint couldn’t help but notice how relieved Steve looked, even if was also clearly a little bit worried about the situation. A quick glance at Tony confirmed that he saw it too.

  
“Your new pals are a bunch of asses,” Bucky said, and Steve stared, before he laughed as Clint and Tony both protested loudly.

  
“God, it’s really good to see you, Buck,” Steve said, and Bucky grinned fondly, before elbowing Captain America in the side. If Clint was having any doubts about the identity of the soldier before him, they were slowly slipping away.

  
“I’m sure it is. How the hell did you end up here Stevie? Long way from home, isn’t it,” Bucky asked, and a flash of pain crossed Steve’s face as he stared at Bucky, before he turned his face away a little bit.

  
“I-“

  
“Whoa whoa, hold on there, Cap, starting to get a little finicky with time lines here,” Tony cut in, holding is hands up in a time out gesture. Steve furrowed his brows in Tony’s direction, before he cut his eyes back to Bucky and his eyes widened as understanding dawned. Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Tony moved forwards, stopping his words from forming.

  
“Nope, whatever your gonna say is not gonna fly. We’re talking to Bruce before we start destroying the time stream with sentimentality,” Tony said firmly, taking Steve by the elbow and pulling. Of course, Steve could have put up a fight, but Tony and Steve hadn’t really fought each other in such a long time that he went willingly, if a little upset about it. He took one last hopefully look at Bucky, before following Tony completely.

  
There was silence for a moment, after the two men left, before Thor slapped a heavy hand on Bucky’s back, sending him pitching forwards a little bit.

  
“I have told you many tales of the adventures of the Avengers in this century; perhaps you can regal us with some of the good Captain!” Thor said, clearly attempting to keep Bucky from following Steve, which he looked sorely tempted to do. Clint looked around and noticed that Natasha had slipped off while introductions were going on. Clint took that as his clue.

  
“Sweet, Thor, you’ve got soldier-sitting duty, I’m out,” Clint said, hopping off the counter and ignoring Bucky’s disgruntled protests as he waved a lazy hand behind him and headed off to find Nat.

  
***

  
“So, is this sexual tension ‘cause of the new guy or a cool down from a successful mission?” Clint asked as he leaned his back against the walk, watching as Natasha attacked a punching bag with brutal yet graceful efficiency.

She didn’t pause in her work out, clearly having noticed when he entered; it wasn’t like he was trying to sneak up on her anyways, that was just dumb, and despite the evidence, Clint liked to think he wasn’t _that_ dumb.

Natasha didn’t answer him for a moment, focusing on her target, before she stopped, almost abruptly, and turned to face him. She stared at him for a long moment, and he stared back, coolly, tilting his chin up slightly. Then her eyes slid away, and she looked troubled; Clint didn’t like it.

“He reminded me of someone I knew,” Nat said quietly, her eyes staring at the floor as if she was seeing something that Clint couldn’t. It made Clint feel a little antsy, but Natasha shook herself, her aura settling as she looked at Clint again.

“But it’s not possible. I’m sure of that,” she said firmly, and Clint shrugged one shoulder, letting whatever weird moment slide passed them, and just because Clint knew her so well, he knew she was appreciating his lack of prying.

Then she was smirking, and Clint felt a twing of unease for an entirely different reason. “While you’re down here Clint, we should spar. I don’t want you to start collecting dust by staying behind,” she said, her expression serious, yet playful.

And God, Clint wanted to. Hadn’t he been complaining about feeling useless, about not having anything to occupy his thoughts and time? But just the thought of throwing himself at Natasha, of having to block her blows he knows so well, made his insides turn to ice. He still remembers what it felt like, fighting her on instinct, that numb feeling at war with his consciousness buried between layers and layers of blue cold.

Natasha was still watching him as he panicked, but she didn’t say anything, her smirk falling slowly. Clint forced himself to relax the tension in his shoulders and shake his head, wagging a finger in her direction.

“Nat. Natasha. Widow. Getting my ass beat is not my idea of a good time, despite what the press might say. If I’m gonna spar with anyone after being out of practice, it’s Tony. While he’s drunk. So thanks, but not today,” he said easily. _Not ever._

He turned his back on her before she could say anything and walked out of the training room with his hands stuffed in his pockets. The numbness was lingering like a phantom pain just below his chest, and he couldn’t help but rub there tenderly, before he grimaced and forces his hand away.

He had a feeling this might be another all-nighter.

***

God, the 21st century. And Steve. Together.

Christ. He’s really stuck his foot in it now, hasn’t he?

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed, which, after sleeping on the ground for who knows how long, was almost too comfortable. Everything was catching up to him at once. It had been amazing at first. The cars (although sadly, not hovering) were still aces, and the metal man that Tony had made was something else completely. He thought New York was roaring back in his time (and Jesus, wasn’t that weird to say) but this new New York was something else. It was so much, too much almost.

If Bucky was being honest, it’s only because Steve had been right there, calmly explaining what each new flashy doodad was in that steady leader voice Bucky usually hated that prevented him from doing something embarrassing like laughing hysterically or crying.

But now he was alone, in the future. Almost seventy years in the future. He ran his hands through his hair and pushed a heavy breath through his mouth. He couldn’t sit here in this room. Even though he had grown a bit wary of the demi-god’s obviously distracting inquiries about his “victories tales of battle” he didn’t exactly mind the company. Sitting here alone was giving him too much time to think.

What had happened to the others? Were they still in danger? Jesus, Steve, his Steve, probably thought he was dead, or missing, or…. Or something bad. He scratched his fingers against his scalp and shook his head firmly. He really needed to find a way back.

But there was no way he could do that by himself. Hell, there was no way he could probably do it period. It would be just his luck that he’s stuck here in this foreign time with foreign faces everywhere… At least Steve was here. And that sounded like a story he should hear sooner rather than later; how the fuck was Stevie here?

Bucky climbed to his feet and slipped out of his bedroom and into the hallway. He needed to move, do something other than sit and brood. It was dark outside his room, which didn’t surprise Bucky; he really probably shouldn’t be creeping around at ass o’ clock, but he really couldn’t sit there any longer. He was sure Steve would understand, probably do the same if he was in his place.

He crept quietly around the corners of the hall, firmly telling himself he wasn’t sneaking, even if he was using all of his strength and grace to make sure he was quiet as he moved. He didn’t really have a goal in mind (he really just wanted to be moving and not stuck) but then he heard Steve’s voice. It was muffled slightly, but Bucky would recognize that stubborn son of a bitch anywhere.

He changed courses and headed in the direction of Steve’s voice. As he got closer, he realized that the man wasn’t alone. _Of course,_ thought Bucky with a mildly exasperated eyeroll, _because that would be too easy._

It was easy enough to guess who the voice belonged too, because who else had been Steve’s shadow since he had arrived. Tony Stark (and good god, Howard had a son, fuck) had one of those voices anyways, loud and in your face and very distinctive. And no, Bucky was not bitter, he just… kind of needed a friend right now.

He hadn’t _meant_  toeavesdrop. As soon as he heard Stark, he was makin’ to turn around and head the other direction, but then he heard his name and damn it, he didn’t need anybody gossiping about him behind his back. Surely whatever it is they want to discuss about him they could do in front of him. Chances are Steve would tell him anyways and then Bucky wouldn’t have to feel guilty for listening. And if Steve doesn’t come forward, he’ll find a way to give him a noogie even if he ends up getting knocked on his ass.

“… know this isn’t right-“

“But I don’t.... I don’t care! I know I should, I know that’s the right thing, but Tony… Tony it's _Bucky_.” Steve sounds torn up, broken and not okay, and Bucky wants to go in there and wallop Stark or maybe just fix whatever’s gotten Stevie sounding all bent outta shape, but he refrained, waiting for Stark to finish.

There were several beats of silence- silence Bucky wasn’t sure how to interpret- but then Stark was talking again, his voice lower, and Bucky had to strain to hear him.

“I know. Listen Steve. _I know._ But, this isn’t your Bucky. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. If we change this… who knows what else we could be changing,” Tony said, and Bucky heard some shifting, as if someone was crossing the room. It was quiet for a moment again, before he heard Steve’s voice again, this time slightly muffled.

“We… what if we wait, see if there is an effect and if there is we send him back but… Tony I would be… If I sent him back, I would be-,” but Steve couldn’t seem to finish his sentence, and Tony shushed him quietly.

“It’s gonna take some time for me to figure this crap out anyways. And something like this might be sending out shock waves before then so… we’ll see but I wouldn’t count on it,” Tony said quietly. Bucky strained to hear anything else, feeling just a touch too nervous to press his ear to the door but really, _really_ wanting to.

He was sure they were going to say something else, but it remained quiet after that, and after a few minutes of silence, Bucky began to creep away, hand on the wall to steady himself. He wasn’t sure what to make of the conversation. Clearly, something about this was bothering Steve more than it should, and it had to do with him. It didn’t sit well.

Bucky wasn’t an idiot. Sure, it could be that Steve just wants a pal from the good ol’ days, but Bucky has a feeling it might be something a touch more sinister than that. Well. He wouldn’t push yet. Stevie would probably come to him anyways. Probably.

Bucky huffed and pushed Steve out of his mind. He didn’t need more complications. Steve was supposed to be easy, a distraction, and instead, he’s even more wrapped around the axel about this whole situation. He needed something else, something that wasn’t walking around in the dark hoping nobody catches him.

He wondered if this place had an open roof; he wondered what a 21st century New York must look like bustling away at night. He strolled over to the shiny elevator down the end of the long entry hallway on Steve’s floor. He stared at the buttons for a moment, before he rolled his eyes at himself and jammed a thumb on the up button, rocking back on his heels as he waited for the elevator to descend.

Bucky grinned a little bit when the doors slid open and he stepped on; these things really were quiet.

“Good evening, Mr. Barnes. Where would you like me to take you?”

Even though Bucky had met the uh… robot butler? AE or something? JASPER? earlier, he was still startled by the sudden voice. He had froze, wondering if perhaps he had been caught, before he forced himself to relax. The robot probably wouldn’t tattle on him. He scratched the back of his neck. Probably.

“Uh… ya know, uh, Bucky’s okay. ‘S what everyone else calls me. Say, I got access to the roof?” Bucky asked awkwardly, shuffling his feet in the quiet elevator. He wasn’t quite sure where he was supposed to look, so he stared at the ceiling, where it made the most sense that the voice would be coming from.

“Certainly, Master Bucky,” the voice said calmly, and Bucky let out a ghost of a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I uh, I guess will work on the whole name thing, then,” he said, before looking away from the ceiling. The elevator really was a marvel; it was so quiet, and Bucky wasn’t even sure if he was moving or not. It was taking a bit of time, but that was to be expected; Stark had a pretty big tower. Made a guy wonder if he was compensating for something.

The elevator came to a smooth stop and the robot announced their arrival to their destination with his spectacularly cool, crisp tone. Bucky nodded his head, the left side of his mouth quirking up in a half smile as he slipped out of the elevator doors. The door to the roof was just a bit of a struggle to get open because of the wind, but Bucky wasn’t one to back down from a fight, especially with a dumb _door._

He shouldered it open, grumbling a little bit until it gave away. Bucky felt his breath catch as first the wind caught him in the face and then the _view._

Bucky always knew New York was a pretty city, never doubted it, despite the fact that it smelled and both metaphorical and physical dirt seemed to settle in the streets, but this? This was breathtaking.

Sure, the city had been something to see back then, but now? It was all colors and lights, more so than before. It was what Bucky imagined standing in the middle of a galaxy might look like. It was overwhelming, and he was hit with a sudden pang of homesickness. Yes, this was gorgeous, and he was so glad he could see this, experience this but… it wasn’t his home. This wasn’t where he belonged.

“Who’s slacking on soldier-sitting duty? I’m so excited to rat on someone; my ass has been under fire for drinking out of the jug for the past two weeks. Did you know Steve can hold a mean grudge?”

Bucky startled, much to his mild embarrassment. God, being in this new environment was really throwing him off of his game if he hadn’t even noticed the other man sitting perched over the doorway of the building. The smartass. The tower seemed to attract them, considering both Steve and Stark lived here. Barton. Right, that’s who that was.

He crossed his arms, hoping he didn’t come off as defensive as he arched an eyebrow at the man. Barton’s grin widened where he was crouched, and Bucky had a feeling he was failing. “Told ya I don’t need baby-sitting. And you’ve been living with Steve. You didn’t really buy into the whole “pure and wholesome do-no-wrong Captain America” schtick did ya? Didn’t peg ya for the type,” Bucky countered, letting his ass rest gently against the ledge of the tower.

Barton laughed, shaking his head where he sat. “No, but I definitely didn’t expect him to be such a pain in the ass,” he said, rubbing his chin with his fingers in a teasing fashion, and Bucky felt a smirk inching its way onto his face.

“Takes one to know one, hm?” he inquired, and Barton blinked at him, before he laughed again and hopped off the roof, landing easily and putting his hand on his hips.

“Sure, but he had to have learned it from somewhere,” Barton said pointedly and Bucky rolled his eyes, lifting one hand to pointedly flip the other man off.Barton grinned a cheeky grin in response, strolling over casually and parking his ass on the ledge before he swung his legs over in a dangerous move Bucky wouldn’t ever try at this height.

Barton reminded him a lot of the men he worked with back in his time. The familiar shit-talking was reassuring in a way; at least he knew that smartasses didn’t change a whole lot, in either century.

“Any particular reason your visiting my nest at this dumb hour,” Barton asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the skyline, but the grin remained fixed on his face, even if he was no longer looking at Bucky. Bucky stared at his profile for a moment. His eyes caught a little something tucked into the man’s ear, but he wasn’t sure if he should mention it. It looked important, and he was curious, but he let the curiosity slip away. He turned towards the city again, bending over to rest his arms against the ledge and cradling his face in his hands.

“Didn’t know this was your haunt. The uh, robot guy didn’t mention it,” Bucky said off-handedly, and he didn’t have to look over at the other man to know he was amused. Seemed like the guy who was always findin’ something funny ‘bout your situation.

“He wouldn’t. JARVIS just doesn’t quite fight over territory like us fleshies. I’ll let it slide this once though, since you’re a newbie,” Barton said, flashing him a smile with all teeth. Bucky just rolled his eyes, snorting.

“Why you up here anyways? Do all folks in the 21st century loiter around at the witchin’ hour?” Bucky asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the glittering lights and moving traffic below him. He felt the man shift next to him, tensing briefly, before relaxing.

“Like I said, it’s my nest. ‘Course I’m up here. A better question would be why _you’re_ up here,” Barton said, tilting his head slightly in his direction. Bucky glanced over, then back away. He relished the feeling of the wind brushing against his face and ruffling his hair.

“Needed some air. ‘S… quiet, in there. In my room,” Bucky said smoothly, trying to come off unruffled, and if Barton picked up on his unease, he did a pretty good job of ignoring it. He did purse his lips a little bit and gave Bucky a side glance.

 “You’re gonna fit in just fine, newbie. I think you’ll find a lot of us agree with you,” Barton said as he leaned back slightly, something haunting flitting across his eyes, so quick Bucky was sure he imagined it because Barton was back to grinning, his eyes shining in the light from the city below.

“Don’t know if that’s a good thing but hey, least you know you got company.”

***

“Whatever caused the shift isn’t lingering. Strange; whatever brought you here had to have given off an intense energy signature. I thought for sure there would be some sort of residue, something we could track, but, it’s like nothing’s changed at all,” Banner mused softly, his brow furrowed as he looked at the screens in front of him. Bucky couldn’t even pretend to keep up with whatever gibberish was lit up in front of the doctor. He was still constantly amazed by the technology he had seen in the short week he had been stuck here. Steve was standing on his other side, staring at the computers with a determined expression. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Bucky couldn’t stop his lip from curling in amusement; Stevie always had been a try hard.

“The showers are state of the art; if they could help scrub away that slime from the jello monster from last month, there’s no telling what it might get rid of,” Stark quipped, hip-checking Banner so he could squeeze in and fiddle with the settings. Banner didn’t comment, just patiently stepped to the side so they could work side by side. Both of them ignored Bucky, talking quietly to each other in a way that seemed to signify the unease of the situation. Bucky felt like an experiment all over again, and he couldn’t quite stop the shiver that raced down his spine.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked back and up at Steve, who was smiling at him sympathetically. “Only a little longer, then you can go. I don’t know what else they would need from you to keep you here after they get their readings,” Steve said softly, and Bucky shrugged one shoulder, trying not to itch at the patches placed on his head.

Steve had been hovering, more so than usual. It had been irritating when it had first happened after the rescue back in his time, but it was like Steve’s motherin’ had gotten worse since _this_ had happened.

And Bucky still didn’t know what _this_ was. How Steve was here. Something had to have happened; he’d bet it was something bad if he was a gambling man. Did Steve get hit with the same weapon after he did? It wasn’t likely, considering how puzzled Banner and Stark were by his shitty description, but if it wasn’t that, how else would a fella end up seventy years in the future? Bucky was sure that if it hadn’t happened to him, he would assume it was just some story that might have been published in one of those pulp magazines he and Steve would purchase after pooling some money together on really good weeks.

And oh, now Steve was looking at him all worried like. He must’ve forgotten to answer. “’S alright. Don’t mind, long as it helps me get back,” Bucky said, and at that, Steve’s expression darkened slightly. It did that often, whenever they talked about sending him back, and it certainly didn’t give Bucky the warm fuzzies when he saw it just then.

He opened his mouth to ask, when suddenly, there was a cacophony of noise from somewhere above his head. He jumped, his nerves already fried from having to sit still and get prodded. It certainly didn’t help when he heard Steve sigh softly as Stark cursed.

“And just when this was getting good. Welp, duty calls, Cap. Get your boy upstairs and meet me out on the deck if you fancy a ride in style,” Stark said with a playful quirk of his eyebrow as he turned and stared pulling the pads off of Bucky’s head. Steve smirked softly, amused as agreed, before he steered Bucky towards the lab door, with urgency, but not unkindly. Bucky was immediately unbelievably relieved as soon as he was able to escape the lab area, Steve’s hand a comforting presence on his shoulder as they stepped into the elevator.

Steve’s expression grew pinched as they traveled up to the communal area, his blue eyes troubled. Bucky couldn’t help but elbow him a little bit after a moment of silence, smirking lightly.

“That’s a bit of a sour look ya got going, Stevie. I don’t think the serum protects your pretty new features from wrinkles,” Bucky teased, and Steve huffed, rolling his eyes as his face relaxed slightly.

“I’m just… are you going to be okay Buck? I’ve got to go for a little bit, and I don’t want you to-“ Steve began, and Bucky socked him in the arm before he could finish, scowling. Steve didn’t even flinch, just raised an eyebrow at him in that half amused half confused way he had perfected, and Bucky wanted to punch him again.

“I’m not a distressed dame, Steve. I’ve handled myself damn well, all things considered. I don’t need anyone holding my hand. Besides, Stark’s robot’s good at helpin’ me when I don’t know how to work something. I’ll be just fine, adapted to worse, haven’t I?” Bucky asked. He watched as Steve’s face screwed up in an expression that was two parts wistful, one part proud, and Bucky rolled his eyes, trying to ignore the unease he felt at the look.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me. I’m assuming you’ve gotta go play Captain America; nothing else I’ve ever seen requires so many bells and whistles,” Bucky said with a smirk, and Steve rolled his eyes, shoving him none too lightly as the elevator stopped and Bucky stepped out. He grinned, saluting sloppily as Steve’s faintly amused expression was blocked as the elevator doors slid shut. He stood there for a moment more, before he sighed out, rubbing a hand over his face.

Christ.

He wasn’t lying when he told Steve he was fine, just, well, a little exhausted. It was a lot, of course it was, but it was also _neat._ ‘Course he wanted to get home, but while he was here, he wanted to explore. It’d be no fun at all if he got to see the future and _not_ tell Steve about it-

Well, maybe he wouldn’t be allowed, “messing with timelines” or what have you, as he had heard Stark say quite a few times since he had ended up here. The fact that Stark was Howard’s kid still made him shake his head with disbelief every time he thought about it. Goddamn, but he would love to knock Steve’s socks off with something like. _Yeah, you heard me right, Stevie, Howard had a kid-_

Bucky grinned a little bit to himself as he stepped into the kitchen, drifting towards the fancy looking ice box. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit intimidated by the sheer amount of food that he found whenever he opened a door in the kitchen. Memories of the Depression and war rations were enough to make him feel a little guilty after eating until he was full. He felt like he should be pushing stuff off onto Steve, too tiny and sick to be able to spare anything, or to one of his soldiers with waning morale.

It was weird to feel nostalgic about something like starving.

“You just gonna stand in the doorway and not grab anything? ‘cause I’ve got a hankering for some of that fancy cheese Tony keeps ordering. I’ll let you get back to it once I grab it,” a voice spoke up, and Bucky jumped, his heart lurching up to his throat. He whirled around, glaring just a little.

It had been a little over a week since his impromptu meeting with Barton on the roof. The man made himself scarce, it seemed, and Bucky was surprised to see him wandering around in the kitchen now. He was barefoot, wearing a ratty white t-shirt and a pair of purple boxers that were bunched up on one leg. His eyes were incredibly blood shot, and he had a few days’ worth of stubble on his chin.

As Bucky stepped to the side to allow Barton in the fridge, he couldn’t help but wonder if Barton had slept at all since he had seen him last. He knew quite a few soldiers that came back from the front with a look like that, lying awake in their sleeping bags and staring at the canvas ceilings that never really seemed to change, no matter how many times you did.

And, speaking of on duty- “Ain’t you supposed to be out there with the rest of them right now?” Bucky asked, half-expecting Barton to make some smart comment about ‘soldier-sitting’, already annoyed at the prospect. But instead, Barton froze in his rummaging for just a split second, before he continued, making a triumphant noise as he pulled out a plastic bag with a pleased noise. If Bucky hadn’t been watching so closely in anticipation of some sort of barb, he probably would’ve missed it.

“Not really a part of the club right now. But still get all the benefits, just without all the inconvenient injuries, so I’m not complaining,” Barton said easily, hopping up onto the counter and tucking his feet under his thighs. Bucky watched him for a moment, wondering how true that was. Bucky’s skin was crawling not being out there to have Steve’s back, even if he had no idea what kind of missions Steve got up to in the 21st century. The ‘jello monster’ didn’t really fit in his repertoire of bad guys he’s dealt with. From the way Barton’s toes were twitching slightly as he stuffed chunks of cheese into his mouth, Bucky had a feeling he wasn’t as unruffled as he liked to pretend.

Bucky didn’t comment, however; he didn’t know Barton well enough to pry. Barton seemed to relax as soon as Bucky let it drop, and he leaned back, resting his elbows on the counter. Bucky moved to look at the insane amount of fruit piled on the counter. He dithered for a moment, before he picked up an apple, if only to keep his hands busy; he wasn’t as hungry as he thought he was, it seemed.

 It was quiet save for Barton’s mildly obnoxious chewing and the sound of Bucky crunching into the fruit every few seconds, but it wasn’t bad. In fact, after being asked invasive question after invasive question and poked at for the better part of a week (form strangers and Steve alike), this kind of easy company was welcome. Barton wasn’t trying to ask how he was holding up or if he needed any help; he just sat and ate and scratched his head sleepily every now and then. Eventually, Bucky stopped bracing for impact.

After a few more minutes, Barton grunted and pushed himself off the counter, replacing what little was left of the cheese and side eyed him in an almost wary way. Bucky just met his gaze steadily, and after a beat, Barton pursed his lips on a smile.

“Nice talk Sarg,” he said cheekily, before he slipped off, leaving Bucky to continue to quietly chew on his apple. Without another person taking up space near him, even if it was Steve fussing, he suddenly felt a bit adrift. He briefly considered following Barton, but that sounded pathetic even to him. He didn’t know Barton; they were barely acquaintances.

He sighed and tossed his apple core in the trash, wondering just what the hell he would do while Steve was gone. Maybe he’d give those songs Steve had mentioned a listen.

***

Clint woke with a start, a scream caught just between his teeth. He gulped for air, staring at his ceiling and counting his breathes slowly as the nightmare began to release him. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, shutting his eyes and willing his heart to slow. The quiet and the darkness helped for a moment, and he let a sense of calm wash over him. He’d take anything that wasn’t blue and static at this point.

He laid there, cocooned in the absence of his senses, before he sat up, rubbing his eyes and sighing. He glanced at the clock and rolled his eyes. Three hours straight, a new record.

He swung his legs off the side of the bed, hesitating for a moment, before snatching his aids off his end table and slipping them into his ears. He lived in a tower full of traumatized individuals who couldn’t sleep; he did not want to be caught off guard by someone slinking around. Clint ignored that he would technically also be slinking around, but he was allowed to; he was a spy.

He shuffled into the communal kitchen, rubbing a hand through his hair and reaching into the fridge and grabbing the cartoon of milk from the fridge. He briefly thought about grabbing a glass, but shrugged it off and took a swig straight from the jug. He nearly spit it out with surprise when he saw someone sitting in the dark on the couch in the living room. JARVIS had not let him know that the team had made it back yet, so there was only one person that could be sitting like some expecting spouse in the dark. He shook his head, wiping his mouth as he capped the milk up again, before slipping into the living room quietly.

Clint wasn’t surprised to see that he was correct, and it was Barnes sitting in the living room. He was not expecting, however, to see that he had earphones in, and seemed to be listening to something with his eyes closed. For a moment, Clint considered leaving him and going back to his room, or up to the roof. But he knew if he did that, he would just think of the cold and the blue and words that weren’t his own whispering things he didn’t want to hear. Hell, even palling around with a soldier from the old days seemed more appealing than that.

And it wasn’t like Barnes was the worst company he could find. From the very little Clint had spoken to him, he seemed to have his wits about him, clever and sharp tongued in a way Clint could appreciate. He also knew when to leave something be, something most of the others in the tower had not quite perfected.

He rolled his eyes up at the thought. He knew they only pushed because they cared, but he didn’t want to talk about it, so he wouldn’t; he wasn’t sure how long he could out-stubborn the five most stubborn people he had ever met, but you could bet your sweet ass he was going to try.

But this wasn’t about him. Barnes.

Clint was sure Tony and Bruce would be able to figure a way to get him back to his time soon enough, but even with two of the world’s greatest geniuses working to crack one hell of a puzzle, he had a feeling there was gonna be a lot of time where it was just him and Barnes in the tower.

Sure, the tower was big enough for them to avoid each other, but Clint wasn’t sure how he felt having Barnes wandering from room to room like some sort of ghost. It was partially because he didn’t want to be responsible if he suddenly lit himself on fire and partially because he kind of knew what it felt like to be lost. Maybe not like what the other man was feeling right now, but something similar.

Even though Clint was a cynical bastard, he liked to think he wasn’t cruel. Couldn’t be easy, finding yourself stranded in a place like this. Steve hadn’t taken it well at all, even though he tried to hide it from them all; then again, Barnes wasn’t under the impression all his friends and family were dead and that he would never be able to go home.

And Clint was so sure he had problems.

So, instead of crawling off to brood, Clint flopped onto the couch and yanked out one of Barnes’ head phones. As he expected, the man jumped, his eyes flying open as a fist jerked out to strike on instinct. Clint caught the flailing appendage in one hand before the other man could land a punch, and he grinned a little bit, one eyebrow raised.

“Getting a little sloppy, there, sergeant,” Clint said, and Barnes glared, huffing softly as he yanked his wrist out of Clint’s grasp. He rubbed his wrist ruefully, before settling slightly, shaking his head.

“Goddamn it, stop sneaking up on me,” Barnes said, sighing as he dragged a hand down his face. Hmm, perhaps sneaking up on war veterans from WWII was a bad idea. Hadn’t he learned that lesson once before? But Clint caught the hint of a smile at the corner of Barnes’ mouth as he pulled his hand away, so Clint counted it as a win.

“I would if you didn’t make it so easy. Honestly, aren’t you supposed to be a sniper? Making the rest of us look bad” Clint said with a grin, and Barnes rolled his eyes slightly, before he paused and he looked at him curiously.

“You’re a sniper, too?” Barnes asked, and Clint shrugged.

“I like to think so. Even if I don’t use something as boring as a rifle,” Clint said, and Barnes arched an eyebrow, before furrowing them together in confusion.

“Then-“

“I use a bow. Much cooler,” Clint said, preening a little bit, before he scowled as Barnes barked out a laugh.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the ancient one here?” Barnes teased, and Clint shook his head, sighing.

“Should’ve known you’d be a non-believer. Bet me and my bow could outshoot whatever rifle we could find for you, hands down,” Clint boasted, before freezing slightly as Barnes’ eyes took on a challenging glint.

“Get me a rifle, and I’d be more than happy to prove you wrong,” Barnes said confidently, and Clint felt his palms grow a little sweaty at the prospect of actually shooting his bow with someone around to watch. It was one thing, if he was by himself, no one there to get in the way, but now?

Shit, he had gotten too quiet, and Barnes at picked up on it. Even if the other man had let his weird behavior slide before, he wasn’t sure it would apply now, so before the other man could speak, he pressed on, throwing his arms behind his own head. “So, any particular reason why you’re down here sitting in the dark with a… is that a Stark Phone? Boy, the assimilation is pressing pretty fast, aren’t they?” Clint asked, changing the subject, and to his relief, Barnes just shrugged easily, letting the subject change.

“I don’t know how long I’m gonna be here, so Stevie gave me this thing. Songs from the fifties up. Said it was nice, when he was feeling a little over his head with all this,” Bucky admitted, throwing his hands up and gesturing to… well, everything. Clint watched his expression carefully for a moment, finally acknowledging the faint bags he could see under Barnes’ eyes in the dim light. He still must be finding it too quiet, probably even more so when Steve wasn’t on his floor with him tonight. By the way Barnes was pressing his lips together and staring at the phone, Clint figured he didn’t want to get into it, so he returned the favor and kept his mouth shut. He turned his gaze away and rolled his shoulders a little bit, throwing his head back.

“You really want to get comfortable with the future, you should get outta this tower and experience it. I don’t know what a bunch of old songs are going to do for you,” Clint said, and Barnes looked over, his eyes sparking with interest again. It made Clint grin in response.

“They told you I wasn’t supposed to leave, didn’ they?” Barnes asked carefully, and Clint snorted. No, they hadn’t, he had been much too busy not listening to anyone, but there was no way he was going to admit that.

“I’m not supposed to leave either, but I can’t sleep and you’re sitting in the dark mooning over your long lost war buddy and there’s a brave new world out there. Gotta tell you, pretty excited to see how your ‘40s morals react to a modern-day strip club,” Clint said, and Barnes narrowed his eyes a little bit, but Clint could tell he had already won, and he couldn’t help but grin. He didn’t realize how much he wanted to get out of the tower until he was suggesting it. He hadn’t wanted to do anything but forget for such a long time, that the feeling was a little foreign, and now there was no way in hell he was not going to do it.

“You act like I’ve never seen the inside of a brothel before. I was ‘cross the sea fighting in a war, in case you didn’ do all your research right,” Barnes drawled.

Clint gasped in mock-offense, clasping a hand over his chest. “My my, sergeant Barnes! That’s enough to make a grown man blush,” he said, and Barnes snorted, before he shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

“Steve’s gonna be so ticked,” Barnes said, but he heaving himself to his feet, grinning a little bit, and Clint couldn’t help but match his expression. There was a rush of adrenaline at the thought of being outside. God it had been so _long._ It was the most alive he had felt in months.

“Oh, I’m almost counting on it Barnes,” Clint said, and Barnes let out a laugh, before he

“We gonna do this, you gotta call me Bucky. Don’t go breaking rules with just any fella,” Barnes warned, cocking his head to the side, his eyes gleaming mischievously.

“You know just how to make a girl feel special,” Clint said, batting his eyelashes once, to Barnes’-Bucky’s-amusement. He didn’t miss a beat, much to Clint’s delight.

“It’s a gift,” the other man drawled as he took a seat on the wall to tie up his shoes.

Clint was suddenly struck by how weird it was to be hamming it up with one of the Howling Commandos. That right there in front of him dressed up in a graphic-T he probably didn’t understand and jeans that didn’t fit was one of the men he had read comic books about when he was a little kid dreaming about how best to escape his shit-head of a father with Barney.

Then again, he was on a team that was led by Captain America and his own dome had been cracked wide open and scrambled, so perhaps this shouldn’t feel so weird to him all things considering.

Bucky stood, snagging his coat off the rack and grinning at him, his expression much lighter than it had been when Clint first approached him in the dark.

“Let’s go.”

***

“3 am is such a wonderful time for an educational outing in the city that never sleeps,” Clint said, throwing his arms wide. Bucky dodged another drunk man, knocking his shoulder into Clint’s and shaking his head.

“Haven’t seen much of a difference so far,” Bucky said dryly as he stepped over a puddle that looked suspiciously like piss and Clint shrugged. And it wasn’t much of a lie. The lights were brighter and the air was clearer and sometimes Bucky didn’t understand what some of the signs said, but the atmosphere was the same. It seemed no matter what time he was in, early morning was saved for the young, desperate, and scared.

“Isn’t that a good thing? Means you know what to expect,” Clint said, tilting his face into the wind and breathing in. “Still nice to be outside like this, isn’t it? I mean, I love a good high place as much as the next, but it’s been a while since I’ve walked among mere mortals. Being stuck cooped up with a bunch of super powered basket cases starts going to your head after a while. So, it’s not a total waste,” Clint said, but it wasn’t unkindly, and Bucky had to concede his point. He would never say that to him, of course. Bucky didn’t know a whole lot about Clint, but he figured if he ever agreed ‘bout anything, he’d never hear the end of it.

Clint stepped smoothly out of the way as the doors to a bar swung open, leaking out a drunk gaggle of kids, arms swung around their shoulders and talking loudly. Clint grinned at the scene, before turning to Bucky and jerking his head at the still swinging doors.

“I’d suggest we go get trashed, but I want Steve to actually let me live after he finds out I took his precious soldier boy outside of the safety of the tower,” Clint said, and Bucky wanted to argue, because relaxing and getting drunk sounded way too enticing to allow Steve’s protective instincts get in the way.

Just as he was opening his mouth to state just that, there was a loud yelp from an alleyway just a few paces in front of him. Bucky and Clint immediately tensed, and Bucky strained to hear, breathing just a little lighter. His eyes narrowed slightly when he heard another sharp yelp followed by a sickening thud. Bucky still wasn’t sure what was going on, but he had heard enough not to care. Clint moved at the same time that Bucky did, and even though Bucky knew he could probably take whatever was around the corner, it was nice to have a little bit of backup.

Clint reached the opening of the alley first, before letting out a string of curses as something whipped past his legs and into the street. If Clint wasn’t so quick on his feet, the motion would’ve most likely knocked him on his ass. Instead, Clint’s eyes tracked the object, and he let out a startled sound at what he saw before he dashed into the street. Cars blared their horns angrily, and Bucky only had a moment to wonder what the fuck kinda dumbass runs into the street before he felt a hand on the back of his shoulder, tugging to pull him around.

He reeled his arm back on instinct, lashing out with a fist and catching the large man who had touched him in the jaw. He stumbled back a few steps, and Bucky felt his fist throb unpleasantly. He flexed his hand as two other large man stepped up and even Bucky knew an unfair fight when he saw one. But, he found he couldn’t care less. His blood was singing in his veins, and even if he was missing 70 years of culture, he knew a good ol’ fashion fist fight couldn’t possibly have changed that much.

He was right about that. He had been around knocking fellas down that Steve couldn’t quite get a handle on before these lugs were even a thought. He wasn’t nearly as large as the other men, but that wasn’t something he was unused to. He’d sparred with Steve before he wound up in this time, and he was definitely learning how to appreciate using his stature against a larger opponent. He steadied his stance and grinned, feeling a thrill as he brought his arms up to block a jab.

Fighting was always a rush, everything moving too fast and not fast enough, and before he knew it, he had two of the men on their asses and his face was starting to smart where one of them got a good knock in. He grunted as he caught a fist in his gut, barely catching movement out of the corner of his eye. He jerked slightly, knowing that if it was backup, he was definitely fucked, but before he could react, there was a blur of movement and the last man went down with a heavy thud. Bucky looked over and met Clint’s eyes, breathing heavily. _Fuckin’ finally._

“Took you damn long enough; why the hell did ya-“ Bucky began, before he cut himself short as he realized that there was _blood all over his shirt._ They were done for if Clint had actually managed to go and get himself run over.

“What the _fuck_ -“

“Not mine,” Clint said quickly, which really did not do a whole lot to reassure Bucky, but the other man was already stooping down and picking up from what Bucky could see was... a dog? A dog that was currently bleeding profusely all over Clint and whimpering softly, and Bucky felt himself shudder a little bit at the sight. Musta been what Clint went chasing after like a fella possessed. And he thought _Steve_ attracted trouble. Christ.

“If we can hurry, there’s this place-“ Clint began, and Bucky nodded, agreeing immediately. Just ‘cause it was trouble didn’t mean Bucky didn’t want to help. The poor thing already looked dead, if he was being honest, but that didn’t mean they should give up. He just beat up three goons and Clint had run into traffic; the damn thing better live.

“Gotta try. Lead the way, I’ve got your back,” Bucky said firmly, and Clint looked at him with an expression Bucky couldn’t quiet interpret, before he nodded once. He turned sharply on his heel and started jogging as fast as he could, trying his hardest not to jostle the dog that wasn’t even whining anymore. Bucky followed easily, leftover adrenaline and concern giving him a boost. He was mildly surprised that Clint was eating up the uneven pavement almost gracefully, all with a good-sized dog in his arms, but Bucky wasn’t going to question. Steve didn’t have just anybody on his team, and even a benched member had to be some kinda impressive.

It only took a few minutes before Clint was slowing down, breathing just a bit heavier than before. “God, I wasn’t sure if I was going to remember correctly,” Clint murmured as he quickly pushed open the door to the vets office with his foot, and Bucky followed him, casting his gaze around at the office curiously. He wasn’t exactly sure why Clint would know where this little setup was if he didn’t have any animals, but Bucky could still remember the positioning of all the shops in his childhood neighborhood, even the ones he had never been in, so he kept mum.

Clint marched up to the front desk and there were already technicians there to scoop up the dog, no questions asked. Clint was chewing on his lip as the dog was taken away, and Bucky couldn’t help but place a hand on the other man’s shoulder, awkwardly patting it lightly to comfort him. Clint gave him tiredly amused look, his lips quirking up in a ghost of a smirk. He arched an eyebrow at the hand, and Bucky rolled his eyes, letting his hand fall away and instead tucking it under his arm. He was used to comforting his soldiers, always sucked when one of ‘em went under the knife and ya didn’t know if they were gonna make it out or not.

“Is this your dog, sir?”

Clint jerked, surprised, staring at the woman who spoke up softly to him. He hesitated for a split second, before he shook his head once. But that moment of hesitation was all Bucky needed to grin and turn to the woman.

“Nah. Not mine. Just saw it get hit. Couldn’t leave it there,” Clint said at the same time that Bucky said, “Yup, that’s right.”

Clint turned and blinked at him slowly, before trying to elbow him discreetly. Or it would’ve been discreet if Clint was capable of it. “No dogs in the tower, newbie,” Clint said, but he couldn’t quite hide his put-out expression when he said it.

“And here I thought you were supposed to be some grand breaker of rules,” Bucky said, raising his eyebrows at the other man, and Clint narrowed his eyes slightly at the thinly veiled challenge. Bucky smothered a grin by rubbing a hand over his mouth. _Too easy._

“Of course I am, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t pushed enough just letting you out to get knocked around like you did. I do like my limbs how they are arranged,” Clint said, gesturing to Bucky’s face, and Bucky winced slightly, poking gently at the tender flesh of his cheek. Yeah, Steve was gonna lose his shit for that, probably at them both.

“Then I’ll take him back,” Bucky said, tilting his chin up a little bit, as if daring Clint to say anything. But of course, Clint just watched him for a moment, before he starting laughing. If it was a mildly hysterical, Bucky pretended not to notice.

“Hell, in for a penny, in for a fucking pound, I guess,” Clint said, still laughing softly. “It’s your ass, though. And here I was, starting to get used to having another buddy to chum around with,” Clint said with a grin, before he sobered slightly, eyes growing unfocused as he stared at the door the dog had disappeared into. “’Course, we only have to worry about it if the poor guy makes it,” Clint murmured as he frowned slightly.

“Just gotta wait and see, that’s all we can do,” Bucky sighed, shrugging one of his shoulders as he flopped down in a waiting chair. Clint remained standing, but Bucky didn’t call him on it, watching as the man stood guard stonily. There were a few beats of terse silence, before Clint grumbled,

“Hate waiting.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Bucky threw his head back and laughed.

***

“Shh, sh, come on, I don’t know if they’re back-“

“There is no way in hell they’re back, ‘else we’d be gettin’ dogged by now.”

“Unless they’re waiting to launch a secret “now where have you been” dad attack. You don’t know Stark like I do; he’s a total ass.”

“I knew one Stark, so I can imagine.”

Clint giggled,-actually giggled, Jesus it had been a long few hours- opening the door to the rest of his floor to allow Bucky to slip through, cradling the dog to his chest. It had taken most of the walk to convince Bucky the dog would be best on his floor after renouncing ownership.

(“Steve is not going to let you keep it on his floor! He’ll tell Tony because he’s _Steve_ and then where will we be?” Bucky had grumbled at that, but then looked at the dog and sighed, realizing finally that Clint was always right.)

Honestly, Clint was glad Bucky had given in when he had. Exhaustion and relief was making the edges of his sight blur a little bit as they headed up to his floor. It had been really touch and go for the little guy for an hour or so there, and Clint didn’t realize how invested he was until the dog got the all clear. Maybe he didn’t want to take the brunt of the fallout-because there was definitely going to be a fallout-but he couldn’t deny how sweet the dog looked, even if he was fugly with a capital F, what with one eye missing and his fur patchy like it was.

Clint led Bucky into his room, kicking some of his clothes and cartons of old Chinese out of the way to make room for the pillows and blankets he dragged off his bed. The whole time, Bucky continued to hold the dog close to him, murmuring quietly to it. It was all very paternal of him, and it made him grin a little as he stepped back.

“I think that should be good enough. Here, lay him down,” Clint said, stepping back as Bucky bent at the knee and laid the drugged-up dog down on the makeshift nest. He fussed with the bedding for a moment, before he stepped back. He wrinkled his nose a little as he finally took a good look around Clint’s room.

“And I thought Stevie had bad taste in decor,” Bucky said, smiling in a way that expressed both his exhaustion and satisfaction. It was definitely a step up from the lost look he had been sporting a few hours ago. Clint couldn’t help but smirk, shrugging one shoulder unapologetically.

“It’s convenient, leftovers right at my fingertips,” Clint said as he reached out and snagged one of the boxes. He held it up to his nose, before frowning and shoving it at Bucky, who let out a disgusted noise and smacked it out of his hand and away from them. They both watched as the container soared across the room and landed top down, leaking two week old lo mein onto his floor.

Bucky paused, before he turned back and said solemnly, “Convenient.”

Clint let out a sharp bark of laughter against his will, and tried to scowl when Bucky gave him a shit-eating grin. He waved a hand at the other man dismissively, squatting down next to the injured dog. He ran his fingers gently over the soft ear, smiling a little when his one eye blinked open to blink at him. He felt clothing rustle as Bucky knelt beside him, only watching, almost as if he was afraid to touch. Clint rolled his eyes; it was his dog for fucks sake.

“By the way, you’re cleaning that up, you ass,” Clint added absently, quieter now as to not bother the dog. Bucky snorted and shifted slightly next to him so he was leaning his elbow on the floor and watching the dog fondly.

“I dunno. It adds flare,” he drawled lazily, and Clint snorted, before sighing and laying on his stomach, too tired to think about fighting Bucky on it. He stared carefully into the dogs one eye.

“What are you gonna name it?” Clint asked suddenly around a yawn, watching as the dog slowly closed his eye as Clint continued to stroke its head. Clint definitely felt like shutting his eyes and going to sleep too, right on this dump mound of blankets, but he refused. There was no way he was going to risk having a nightmare and whacking the animal in the middle of the night. He shuddered at the thought.

Bucky was quiet for a moment as he thought, before he finally reached over and began to gently pet the unwrapped part on the dog’s flank. His gaze was unfocused as he pet the dog, his eyes fluttering slightly as he rubbed his undamaged cheek.

“He’s a lucky fella,” Bucky said finally, and Clint made a noise of derision.

“What, you gonna name him Horse Shoe? ‘cause I’ve got to draw the line somewhere Bucky. Shorten it or something,” Clint said, ignoring Bucky’s eyeroll. He suddenly brightened, snapping his fingers and pointing at Bucky. “Lucky. Lucky’s nice. Rhymes with your name and everything,” Clint teased. He didn’t think Bucky was going to take him up on it, because it was stupid and he mostly said it to poke fun at Bucky. But of course, Bucky just paused for a moment before huffing out a laugh and saying,

“Lucky, hm? I like it.”

Clint opened his mouth to laugh, or argue,-it really was a joke, come on!- but he ended up closing it firmly when Bucky resumed petting, something like peace crossing his features. Ah fuck it, whatever, it wasn’t his dog anyways. Bucky wanted his name to rhyme with his dog’s that was his business. And Clint reserved teasing rights.

“Hope he’s lucky enough to keep our asses from getting kicked for a little while,” Clint said, as he gently tugged on Lucky’s ear. Bucky snorted next to him, letting his hand lay still on Lucky’s flank.

“Dunno of any charm that could save us at this point,” Bucky countered, but he continued to grin with glee, looking completely unapologetic. Clint’s eyes flicked down to look at his blood-soaked clothes and chuckled quietly.

“Point. There is no hope for us. Suicide pact?” Clint asked solemnly, and squawked as Bucky shoved him, shaking his head. Clint grumbled and righted himself, before burying his fingers in Lucky’s fur again. A comfortable silence settled over the three of them, long enough that Clint was pretty sure if he looked over, Bucky would be asleep.

“Hey, Clint?” Or not.

“What?” Clint mumbled through his arm, flicking his eyes to the side to look over at the other man. Bucky wasn’t watching him back, his focus completely on Lucky, but he had a gentle look on his face, relaxed and calm.

“Thanks.”

Clint screwed up his face with distaste. He was not expecting that. “For what?”

Finally Bucky glanced over, his expression fondly exasperated and just a touch embarrassed. “Ya know, for this,” he said, gesturing his hand vaguely in the direction of Lucky and Clint. Clint arched one eyebrow at his inarticulacy, grinning slightly, and Bucky scowled, embarrassment turning his ears pink. He opened his mouth to bitch, and Clint took mercy, flapping his hand in his direction.

“Shut up. ‘S nothing. In case you didn’t notice, I was begging for an out; you were just a convenient excuse,” Clint said breezily, and Bucky watched him closely for a moment, before he shrugged on shoulder.

“Still, you didn’t have to-“ Bucky began stubbornly, and Clint rolled his eyes, cutting him off.

“Nah, but you ain’t half bad, for an old guy. Letting you tag along wasn’t too much of a hassle. I mean, I was worried your hip was gonna give out about a block in but-“ Clint started solemnly, before laughing as Bucky leaned over to beam him in the side of his head.

“You’re an ass,” Bucky grumbled good-naturedly, and Clint shrugged unapologetically as he cushioned his chin on his arms, watching as Bucky continued to pet the dog sleepily. It was a little weird, talking to someone who had no idea what happened, who didn’t watch him warily out of the corner of their eye as a force of habit. It was both liberating and frightening. Fuck, the whole day had been liberating and frightening. He had a feeling this was just his life now.

His life also seemed to now have a dog in it, and for the foreseeable future, a homesick out of time WWII soldier. Really laying it on thick. Bucky began to nod off with his big hand still gripping Lucky’s side, his expression soft. Clint shook his head, his chest feeling light.

Maybe that part wasn’t so bad.

***

Bucky wasn’t all too sure how they were able to hide Lucky for a whole god damn month.

He had been expecting Steve to stop him with that disappointed frown he wore so well and ask him where and why he had gotten a dog. But he never did.

‘Cause it’s not like Clint and Bucky were any good at hiding the fact they had a dog. For all of Clint’s boastin’ about being some kinda spy, he wasn’t all that stealthy when it came to hiding evidence of Lucky. He didn’t bother cleaning the dog hair off his clothes before he stumbled down into the communal kitchen in the morning, and when Bucky elbowed him and gestured to it behind Steve’s back one morning, the other man simply flipped him off and went back to sleepily downing his coffee.

Ass.

Of course, Bucky could also admit that some of his actions should’ve probably sent off warning signs for at least Steve. What time he wasn’t hanging around Steve listening to the music the other man had given him and learning more about the 21st century was spent running off to Clint’s floor to see Lucky. Honestly, Bucky was a little disappointed in Stevie; he could always tell when Bucky was up to no good, but here seemed to be the exception. Not that he was complaining, he didn’t want Lucky to get taken away after all.

It was hard to stay away from the pooch. Lucky was unbearably sweet, and needed a lot of looking after. To take him out, they had to tag team; someone stood watch while the other smuggled him up to the roof so he could do his business on puppy pads that Clint had bought online.

“Just until we’re allowed to leave and the poor guy can stand on his own,” Clint had said as he watched Bucky fold up a spoiled pad with a disgusted expression. He had glowered at where Clint was standing on the roof, cuddling Lucky to his chest affectionately. Clint had just grinned at him and said, “It’s your dog. You should be the one that has to clean his shit.”

“Fuck you.” He was displeased he didn’t have a better argument, and the feeling only deepened when Clint smirked in response.

Of course, Lucky spent most of his time sleeping, but Bucky liked to hang around with an eye on him. He wasn’t sure what it was about the dog that brought out something so aggressively protective. It wasn’t like he didn’t trust Clint to take good care of Lucky- no wait, that was exactly it. He glanced over at the man who was currently scratching his ass through his pants as he hesitantly sniffed a shirt that was laying on his floor before wrinkling his nose throwing it to another part of his room.

He was a mess, thought Bucky with amusement, but at least Lucky hadn’t died yet. In fact, the dog seemed to enjoy both of their company equally, always thumping his tail whenever one of them entered, even if he couldn’t quite move to great them for another few months.

Bucky wasn’t even sure if he would be here still in another few months. Stark and Banner were hard at work trying to find the weapon that sent him here, but there was nothing turning up on any of the servers that Stark had hacked into, and it was making him antsy and even more irritating than usual. He didn’t know how Steve remained patient with him when he was grumbling like he was. He whispered as much to Clint, who snorted.

“Never give Tony an uncrackable puzzle; then we’re all fucked. You just had to be that puzzle didn’t you soldier boy,” Clint had whispered back as he watched Stark pace back and forth in the common living room with an amused expression on his face. Bucky had glared him as Steve stepped in and guided him away, smiling sheepishly at the group as Stark continued grumbling about how “something smells off about this and you know it!”

Bucky would be glad to get back home, even if he couldn’t say anything to anyone, but he also knew he was probably gonna miss this. The 21st century was swell; he would definitely miss Lucky and he’d probably miss Clint too if he stopped being such a pain in the ass. Often times, he felt like he was babysitting him. Which was, Bucky admitted to himself, a form of entertainment, so he wasn’t sure if that was a complaint.

He had yet to forget how Clint had yanked his fancy game box off the shelf as he jerked his controller angrily when Bucky won another round of Mario Kart.

 

“What the _fuck_ , you aren’t even from this century! I should be kicking your ass!” Clint had said shrilly, glaring at the broken game box as if it had personality wronged him. Bucky didn’t really care that their main form of entertainment outside of caring for Lucky was gone; he was too busy basking in the satisfying glow of knocking a fella down a couple of pegs.

Clint refused to ask Tony to fix the box, determined to do it himself to Bucky’s surprise. Sometimes he came up to Clint’s floor to see Lucky and he would be absorbed in the parts scattered about on his desk. It all looked so fancy and confusing and futuristic, and Bucky was beginning to think maybe Clint was hiding a brain underneath all that snark and impulsive stupidity.

He even tried to fix up his hearing machines once, but that hadn’t gone so well. He had sulked when he handed them off to Stark, who was delighted at the prospect of tinkering with something new, and had disappeared immediately.

“What’re those?” Bucky had asked to Clint’s back as he continued to glare at Stark’s receding form. Clint hadn’t responded, and Bucky thought he was ignoring him to be a pissy shit (because he was) but when the other man had turned around and saw his expectant face, he looked a little confused, before his expression turned sheepish.

“Did you say something?” Clint had asked carefully, and Bucky had arched an eyebrow, before he gestured towards where Stark had left.

“What’re those fancy doodads?” Bucky asked again, and Clint stared at his mouth intently as he did so. After a beat, he had frowned a little bit before he took a breath and looked back at Bucky.

“I’m deaf,” he said easily, gesturing to his ears, and Bucky blinked in surprise. Clint smirked with amusement. “Yeah, those ‘fancy doodads’ let me hear your dulcet Brooklyn tones. Went on the fritz after I stepped on one, and couldn’t figure it out. I’m surprised I never told you. I guess I don’t think about it too much,” Clint had said as he shrugged, before throwing his arms up in a stretch and continued, “Got extra’s in my drawer, that way I can hear you cry when I beat you on Rainbow Road.”

Bucky had immediately risen to the bait and the whole situation was mostly forgotten. Except, sometimes Bucky thought about the little thingys, especially when he was bitching about how his ears hurt after he slept with them in once, and wondered how it happened. He didn’t think it’d be nice to ask, even if they were growing towards something like friends. Clint seemed like the kind of fella who’d just sneak outta answering anyways.

Lucky snuffled contently as Clint abandoned his search for clean clothes and knelt next to the dog with a container in his arms. Bucky watched as Clint fed Lucky some of the brown rice and boiled chicken that Bucky had cooked up the previous night after reading on the Google that dogs recovering from surgery could stomach that the best. It had led to an interesting conversation about Bucky’s knowledge of the internet and cooking that made Bucky feel a little wistful.

“’S not like we could eat out all the time. No money. And with mine and Stevie’s Ma’s out working, we had to figure it out. Stevie was sick all the time, and this was the easiest thing to make,” Bucky had said in a fit of honesty which he kind of regretted. He was sure Clint was going to open his fat mouth and say something about him being some kinda housewife, but he had just hummed a little bit.

“Barney did the cooking. He was a shit brother, but not all the time, and it wasn’t like I was all the great either,” Clint had said, attempting nonchalance, but Bucky could tell he was mildly uncomfortable as he hopped onto the counter. Bucky didn’t look at him, determined to make this somehow less awkward.

“You’re a shit housemate too,” Bucky said eventually, and laughed when Clint punched him in the arm, the tension leaking away as Bucky put the food in the fridge to cool.

In the time Bucky decided to go down memory lane, Clint had somehow stretched out on his stomach as he continued to feed Lucky. “Stop hovering and go get coffee,” Clint grunted, his mouth twitching affectionately as Lucky licked his hand in between tired bites of his meal. Bucky rolled his eyes, but pushed himself to his feet. He was absolutely sure if he didn’t need Clint’s help getting Lucky to the roof for him to do his business in the mornings, Clint wouldn’t be awake until at least one every day.

“’S it really safe to bring another mug into this warzone?” Bucky asked dryly even as he started to head towards the elevator. Clint either didn’t hear him or he was ignoring him. It was probably the latter because he was an asshole.

Bucky rolled his shoulders as he headed towards the communal floor, already thinking about what kinda music was gonna be on the next decade; the fifties were nice, not too unfamiliar, but he knew that was gonna change fast.

When the elevator doors rolled back, Bucky was hit with the smell of good coffee, the fancy kind Bucky never dreamed he’d be able to touch. As good as it was, however, he found he missed the eye watering strength of the coffee he’d get on the field; strong enough to strip paint and just about as potent.

Whoever had made the pot this morning was getting his eternal thanks; he might be adapting fast to Clint’s games and the Google, but the coffee machine eluded him. There were so many buttons on it and it never gave him what he wanted.

He heard movement in the kitchen and he smiled a little. It was probably Steve in the kitchen puttering around and makin’ coffee; he was never fond of the stuff, but Stark downs it like a man possessed, and if there was one person Steve fussed over more than him, it was Stark. He wasn’t exactly sure why; if he had to guess, he would say it was because Stark was one of the last links to Steve’s past - to their past.

He grimaced; he imagined someone like Stark would hate that if it was true.

It wasn’t his business though. He couldn’t imagine being here in this time suddenly without Steve and the knowledge that he was going to be sent back. He shuddered a little bit. He knew he’d probably cling to something too, if he were him. Shit, he was already kinda clinging to Lucky, and he was sure he was going back. Bucky shook his head to clear it, scratching his cheek as he shuffled into the kitchen. Enough of that shit, he had a mission.

“Heya, Stevie-“ he began, before he paused, his hand freezing were it was running through his hair. Steve jumped away from Stark as if the man had suddenly caught on fire, but it was not before Bucky had seen what he had.

Steve had had Stark boxed in, his big hands resting on the counter on either side of Stark’s hips, keeping the other man trapped as Stark’s fingers nestled into his hair. They had definitely been making out,-sweet Christ- and while it wasn’t explicit or steamy, there was a certain sweetness and familiarity to it that almost made the whole things worse.

So, perhaps the fussing was about something very different.

Bucky stared at Steve, who was slowly turning red, his mouth opening and shutting for a moment, before he pressed his lips together tightly and dragged a hand down his face. Next to him, Stark picked up his mug and took an obnoxiously loud slurp of his coffee as he relaxed on the counter.

“Welp, this has been awkward. I’ll be in my workshop when you’re done with whatever wholesome conversation you’re going to have about sexuality in the 21st century,” Stark said as he pushed himself away from the counter, leaning into Steve’s space to kiss the corner of his mouth. Steve sputtered and darted embarrassed eyes in Bucky’s direction. Bucky immediately looked away because what the fuck else was he supposed to do after watching your best friend get fresh with a fella when the last time you checked that _was not a thing._

Stark hummed, probably wearing a shit eating grin as he walked past Bucky towards the elevator with his mug in his hands. Bucky caught sight of a dark mark just hidden by Starks’s collar as he passed, and Bucky felt his ears grow hot as he realized who had probably put it there.

“Tony-“ Steve began, his voice strained, and Tony waved his hand in the air without turning around.

“Not my soldier, Steve,” Stark called as the elevator doors shut, leaving Bucky and Steve in silence. Bucky was still avoiding Steve’s gaze like it would shock him if he looked, so he heard rather than saw Steve shift and sigh behind him before he felt him approach, hesitantly putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s… I mean, we should sit-“ Steve began haltingly, and Bucky sighed slightly, his shoulders sagging at Steve’s lost sounding voice. Ah god, they gotta talk about this.

“Yeah, yeah, alright. You better knock that blue look offa your face before I look at ya, though,” Bucky said as Steve guided him towards the couch in the living area. Bucky flopped down with a big sigh, rolling his neck to look over at Steve as the other man sat down carefully, as if Bucky was gonna bite his head off if he moved too quickly or sat too close. Bucky rolled his eyes.

Then reached out and popped Steve in the shoulder as hard as he could.

Steve jumped, his brows furrowing. “Hey,” he said reproachfully, even though Bucky was sure it didn’t hurt, as much as that wounded his pride.

“That’s for not tellin’ me. And also ‘cause ya didn’t stop looking like I just stole your last pair of dry socks,” Bucky said, crossing his arms firmly across his chest. Steve blinked at him, before a hand crawled up to rub the back of his neck. He looked a little sheepish, a lot embarrassed, but Bucky couldn’t muster up any sympathy. He tilted his chin at Steve, asking him to explain as he pursed his lips, and Steve got the message, chuckling a little helplessly as his hand fell back limp in his lap.

“I… well I wanted to tell you Buck but… I mean… this… it’s weird, I guess. That it’s so okay now. You already had to catch up with so many other things… I  just didn’t want to add this on top of all of that,” Steve said, linking his fingers together and staring hard at his hands in his lap. Bucky didn’t like that Steve couldn’t meet his eyes; they were best friends, brothers practically, and he never wanted Steve to feel like he had to keep things from him, especially nothin’ important like this.

“Stevie... look, ‘course imma little surprised; I didn’t think you were uh… that way, but I’m more surprised that you didn’t, ya know trust me,” Bucky said, and he was a little embarrassed by how much it stung. Steve looked a little guilty about that, and Bucky pressed on, grinning a little now. “What was I gonna do anyhow, knock you silly? You really think I wanna bunch of super heros coming after me if I wounded their perfect Captain?”

Steve smiled a little bit at that, chuckling lightly. Bucky knocked their shoulders together, before he paused, scratching the back of his neck.

“Were ya… always like this? Back in my time I mean?” Bucky asked carefully. Steve suddenly flushed a brilliant red, staring at Bucky, before he looked away, rubbing his face with both hands. Bucky’s eyebrows rose; that was certainly an interesting reaction, worthy of some ribbing.

“I… probably. But it hasn’t happened yet for you, I think,” Steve said through his hands, and Bucky couldn’t help but grin wide. Bucky could not wait for all the teasing opportunities he was gonna get whenever this super embarrassing thing happened to Steve. He loved Steve, ‘course he did, but what kinda best pal would he be if he didn’t give him shit for being the least suave person he’s ever had the pleasure of knowing.

“Well, I hope you tell me when you do, you dumbass. Honestly, thinkin’ you could keep anything from me. I’m you’re second, punk,” Bucky grumbled, shaking his head as Steve let out a sound of protest next to him.

“Hey, you never told me you got that dog,” Steve accused, and Bucky startled, whipping his head around. He stared at Steve, who was attempting to look at him seriously, but his eyes were glimmering with amusement. Bucky could tell his mouth was hanging open, and he forced himself to shut it.

“But- what- you knew?” Bucky asked, and Steve finally laughed, leaning over and shaking his head as he put his hands on his knees.

“You and Clint aren’t as sneaky as you like to think. Plus, JARVIS has eyes everywhere, ya know, because he’s-“ Steve began with the beginnings of a smirk and Bucky cut him off.

“The robot butler, yeah yeah, but the _dog,_ Stevie. You really wouldn’t’ve made us get rid of him?” Bucky asked, eyeing Steve warily, and Steve let out a big breath, rubbing his chest like he used to when he was getting stressed and thought he might have an asthma attack. It made Bucky’s chest twinge in sympathy.

“Tony doesn’t like it, but… I dunno Buck. Thought it would be good for you. And Clint. He’s… been through a lot lately. I thought maybe taking care of this animal might make things easier for both of you, give you something to do. I know you hate being left behind, but with this responsibility, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard,” Steve said honestly, his eyes wide and earnest. Bucky rubbed the bridge of his nose, because of course Steve was playing strategist even off the field. He sighed, before he suddenly jolted upright and turned, jabbing an accusatory finger in Steve’s direction as he frowned.

“Then why didn’t you say you knew, you fathead!” Bucky demanded, and Steve’s wholesome expression was replaced by the shit-eating one he was so used to.

“You both deserved to worry a little bit after leaving the tower and bringing back an animal. I’m not even going to touch the leaving the tower thing, because I’d rather just forget it ever happened, if we’re being completely honest,” Steve said, sighing a little bit and rubbing his forehead with two fingers, but he was still smirking slightly, and Bucky knew he was already forgiven.

After a beat of silence, Steve turned to him again, looking at him seriously for a moment. “Are you sure you’re okay with everything? I know, back where we’re from...” Steve said softly, and Bucky snorted, elbowing Steve in the side.

“As if I’ve ever given a shit ‘bout the law before. ‘Sides, I’ve kept one or two of my soldiers outta jail by keeping mum. It never bothered me then, and it don’t really bother me now. It’s just a little weird, to see that it’s no longer… wrong,” Bucky said slowly, trying to say the right words. He was really trying not to offend Steve, but the other man just nodded slowly, and Bucky relaxed; ‘course Steve knew what he meant, they had both lived it.

Steve’s eyes suddenly grew curious, and his gaze grew more calculating. Bucky shifted, a little uncomfortable by the shift. “And you… you’ve never…?” Steve asked slowly, his eyebrows arching up as he tilted his head towards him. Bucky stared back at him for a moment, before he laughed, shaking his head.

“Nah, I’m a dames kinda fella,” Bucky said with a grin, before his brows furrowed as he thought about Steve’s own interest in ladies. “But, I mean, you liked Peggy-“ he began, and Steve’s expression fell for a moment, his eyes distant and haunted, before he took a steady breath and smiled a little bit.

“You can like both, I guess. Tony told me about it. It’s keen, all the stuff folks talk about today. You should look it up, I’m sure others can explain it better than I can, if you’re curious,” Steve said carefully, and Bucky shrugged.

“Maybe. It’s… different. Interesting,” Bucky said, trailing off. They sat in silence for a breath, before Bucky elbowed Steve with a grin.

“So… Stark? Really?” Bucky asked, smirking, and Steve groaned, leaning his head on the back of the couch and covering his face.

“No, god, we are not talking about this,” Steve said, his voice muffled by his fingers, and Bucky laughed.

“Have you guys-“

“Bucky _stop_ -“

“ _Fondued_ yet?”

Steve lifted his hands to shove Bucky, who shoved back, barely moving Steve as he did, laughing and clutching his stomach at the affronted look on Steve’s face. After a moment, Steve looked away stubbornly, and Bucky relented, reaching a hand up to squeeze his shoulder gently.

“Just, ‘s long as he makes you happy, yeah? I’d really hate to have to kill Howard’s future kid. It would be weird to explain,” Bucky said, and Steve snorted, turning to look at him with a mildly distant and soft look.

“He does Buck. He’s um,” Steve cleared his throat a little, ducking his head bashfully, “He’s good. I dunno where I would be right now, if he hadn’t been there.”

Bucky watched as unreadable expressions passed across Steve’s face, and Bucky hated that he didn’t understand. There were so many years he had missed, and so many of them hadn’t been nice to Steve. He wished he could do something, comfort him, but he had no idea what the other man was thinking.

“Good. That’s real good Stevie. Knew you’d find someone, even if ya did have to wait seventy years to meet ‘em,” Bucky teased, and Steve rolled his eyes, before he smiled, the gesture just a touch wobbly at the corners.

“It’s so good to see you again, Bucky. Really,” Steve admitted, his voice slightly choked.“Missed you a lot. I woke up knowing that I let you- that I-,” Steve began, before he cut himself off, shaking his head. Bucky stared at Steve’s profile, growing alarmed as Steve wiped at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, his shoulders hunching in as if he were trying to protect himself from a blow.

“Steve-“ Bucky began, unsure, and Steve suddenly straightened, giving him a watery smile.

“’S nothing Buck. I’m just… I’m gonna go see Tony. There’s coffee, you know where. I’m… thanks for listening and understanding. I’ll see you later, okay?” he said with a tight smile, before he stood quickly, leaving before Bucky could even begin to put together the words to ask what the hell all that had been. He felt even more frustrated as he heard the elevator doors shut, leaving him with silence and burning curiosity.

Fuck this, Steve was hurting and he didn’t know _why._ Bucky should know why; he should be there for him like Steve had been there for Bucky when all this shit happened. But, this wasn’t his Steve. This Steve had already mourned his Bucky, had moved onto this time, found things about himself that must’ve been so hard to uncover back then and discovered people here who cared about him.

Bucky knew it was irrational to feel bitter that Steve didn’t need him anymore, but it still smarted a little bit. He was just so used to watching his back, even when he packed on muscles and a fancy suit.

By the time Bucky had gotten his ass in gear and finally managed to bring Clint the coffee he had asked for, the other man was fast asleep next to Lucky. The dog opened his one eye at him, his tail thumping weakly as Bucky deposited the mug on the dresser and bent to pet the dog gently. Lucky’s tail thumped harder for a moment, before Bucky turned back to Clint.

He watched him sleep for a moment, frowning when Clint’s face screwed up and he shivered. Bucky looked around for a moment, before dragged Clint’s blanket off his bed and laid it across the man. He stooped down next to him, eyeing the devices in his ears carefully before he r

tentatively reached over and to remove one. Immediately, Clint woke up, his eyes wide as his hand flew up and grabbed Bucky’s wrist. Bucky yelped and fell back on his ass, watching as Clint sat up, stilling holding his wrist hostage, and rubbed at his eyes, glaring at Bucky.

“What the fuck,” Clint demanded, and Bucky scowled, trying to hide his embarrassment as he yanked his wrist back.

“’S just trying to help you. You said it hurt if you slept with ‘em in,” Bucky grumbled. Clint gave him an unreadable look, before he rolled his eyes.

“Such a gentleman,” Clint snorted as he shoved the blanket off of his legs. “Pro-tip, don’t sneak up on a sleeping spy; I coulda stabbed you,” Clint said. Bucky could tell he was trying to make a joke, but it fell flat, Clint’s expression dark as he stared over Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Got it. Don’t gotta tell me twice,” Bucky said carefully, and Clint sighed, rubbing a trembling hand over his face. Bucky felt a little guilty as he noticed it. He should’ve known better than to sneak up on him; he knew plenty of fellas under his command that lashed out in the night. Even if Clint wasn’t in the army, he had to have seen some things working with Steve.

Clint suddenly sniffed the air and perked up immediately, the unrest on his face receding to be replaced with joy.

“Mmm, coffee. As soon as I’m caffeinated, we’re trying the Gamecube again. I think I figured it out this time,” Clint said as he crawled over to his end table like some kind of giant child. Bucky watched him with an amused eyebrow raised, shoulders relaxing as the uncomfortable moment passed.

“Uh-huh. Just like the last four times?” Bucky asked, and Clint grunted into his mug, glaring at Bucky over the rim, but ultimately decided getting coffee into his system was more important than being a smart ass. Little miracles.

“Oh, and Steve knows about Lucky.”

Bucky had to take a knee at Clint’s impressive spit take, clutching his stomach as he laughed. Lucky’s tail began wagging again, his one eye bright as he watched and Bucky grinned, reaching out to pet his head.

“Yes, I agree. Clint is a dumbass.”

“Clint’s also standing right here, asshole. What the fuck do you mean Steve knows? How dead are we? How fucked is Lucky?” Clint asked, clutching his coffee close to his chest as if he were trying to suck in as much warmth as possible.

“Lucky’s fine. Steve doesn’t mind, and I guess that means Stark doesn’t mind either,” Bucky said, shrugging one shoulder. Clint let out a dramatic sigh of relief, and Bucky laughed, before he squinted at Clint.

“Did you know about… uh about Stevie and Stark?” Bucky asked tentatively, and Clint looked up at him, one eyebrow raised, his lips curling up in a grin.

“Uh, yeah, it’s a little hard not to notice. They’re always being gross in the common rooms. But Tony “it’s-my-tower” Stark doesn’t seem to care about the vision of all of his housemates. I’m going to stab my own eyes out to go blind if I gotta see them locking lips one more time,” Clint said somberly, before he shot a look at Bucky. “Why, did you not know? Oh fuck, you aren’t a homophobe are you? Because I think you’re cool and all but I’ll still punch you in the face if you said anything fucked up to them,” Clint threatened, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh a little, feeling secretly pleased that he was correct; there would be a whole gaggle of super heros on his ass should he ever be the one to fuck Steve over.

“Uh, I don’t think I’m one of those. I don’t gotta problem. Was just surprised. Didn’t know it was okay now,” Bucky said honestly, and Clint watched him thoughtfully, before he grinned a grin that could mean nothing good.

“I am _so_ going to catch you up on LGBT history, holy fuck. Then we can watch RuPaul since Natasha’s always gone on a mission or sleeping and we never have time to do it anymore,” Clint said, his eyes gleaming. Bucky felt apprehension crawl up his spine at Clint’s mischievous expression, but he was never one to back down from a challenge, so he tilted his head up and grinned.

“Alright. I got all day.”

***

Clint watched from his nest on the roof as the Quinjet rose into the air slowly, then took off with a roar into the sky. He stared after it, feeling the itch to follow burrowing under his skin and making him feel restless. The feeling had only increased the longer he had to stay put in the tower. Of course, he was still nervous about using his bow around others, but he could do other stuff. Spy stuff. He was good at vents.

He stared at where the Quinjet had disappeared for a few more moments, before he let out a soft breath and turned towards the elevator. Whenever he started feeling like this, he had started to go to Lucky. Fuck, Lucky wasn’t even his dog, but... it was nice to take care of him. After three months of healing, Lucky was starting to get around by himself for little bits of time. He couldn’t do too much, but it was encouraging to see him starting to stand on his own. Bucky had said he looked like a proud parent when Lucky had stood up on his own the first time and Clint hadn’t even been annoyed, because Bucky was right, he was extremely proud. It’s not easy to bounce back, but Lucky was resilient.

Everyone else in the tower didn’t seem to mind him either as long as he stayed on Clint’s floor. Tony was mildly allergic, and made sure Clint knew this every chance he got, but Clint knew it was his rich ass leaving high end dog toys in his living room.

Clint stepped out of the elevator and onto his floor, already pursing his lips to whistle at Lucky, before he paused when he saw Bucky sitting on his floor, Lucky’s head in his lap as he bobbed his own head gently to whatever he was listening to on his Starkphone.

When Clint offered to keep Lucky on his floor, he knew the other man would be hanging around for Lucky, but he hadn’t been expecting his company for much longer than that. Bucky seemed to enjoy Clint’s company as much as Lucky’s and that was just a little strange to him. Usually only Nat could stand his company for more than thirty minutes, and that was only because she had a lot of practice. Then again, when there was no one else in the tower, there was really nowhere else for either of them to go if they were bored. But even when Steve was around, Bucky had a habit of coming up to his floor to bug him. He was a pain in the ass, but Clint would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the company sometimes.

 Of course, he still had his hiding place that he snuck of to think if he just couldn’t stomach anyone’s presence, but those days were becoming few and far between. At least, that was the case with Bucky. Maybe it was because he didn’t know what Clint had done. It was easy to forget the blood on his hands when Bucky was grinning at him in that stupidly earnest and teasing way he did.

Fine, Clint would admit that he and Bucky were buddies, as juvenile as it felt to think it. It seemed that saving a dog and getting his ass kicked in Mario Kart seemed to do it for him. And Clint would like to put out for the record that he was absolutely sure Bucky was cheating. The guy was two-faced; a sneaky bastard with a killer goodie-two-shoes-from-the-‘40s look going on. And the worst part was that Bucky _knew_ what he was doing. Clint would be proud of him if half the time it wasn’t aimed at him.

Lucky’s tail suddenly began to thump wildly, and he lifted his head gently from Bucky’s lap to greet Clint. Bucky looked up at the same time, grinning and Clint rolled his eyes at the mirror imagine presented to him; Bucky and that dumb dog really were too similar. Bucky was only marginally more attractive, and that was only because he had two eyes.

“Watching the others leave? You didn’t forget to wave your hankie this time, didja?” Bucky asked, smirking a little and Clint huffed, shoving him out of the way so he could pet Lucky. Bucky squawked, but Lucky was squirming lightly with delight, his tongue coming out to lick gently at Clint’s face. Clint grimaced slightly, but he couldn’t help but grin as he ruffled the fur on Lucky’s neck.

“Good boy, Lucky,” Clint murmured affectionately while Bucky righted himself, scowling lightly; his twitching lip belied his amusement.

“You’re converting my dog,” Bucky grumbled, and Clint grinned at him, pressing a kiss to the top of Lucky’s head.

“I’m just that kind of awesome. This charisma devastates all,” Clint said, before letting out a grunt as Bucky kicked him in the ribs a little harder than Clint really thought was necessary.

“I hate you,” Clint grumbled as he rubbed his side, watching as Bucky smirked to himself and retrieved his fallen phone, flicking through the songs with a practiced hand, a testament to how much Bucky was learning. Only four short months in the 21st century, and he had finally stopped jumping (much) when JARVIS started talking without prompting.

“Nu-uh, else you wouldn’t let me in,” Bucky said confidently as he laid back on the floor and plugged one earphone back in. He dug his toes under Clint’s ass and Clint swatted at his legs, rolling his eyes as Bucky ignored him. Asshole.

“Watcha listening too, old timer? Oldies from the good ‘ol days?” Clint asked prodding Bucky hard in the calf. Bucky winced lightly, glaring at him, before he turned the phone so Clint could see what was one the screen.

“’September’? What, you in the 70s now?” Clint asked, and Bucky nodded, before a wistful expression crossed his face. Clint squinted his eyes a little, wondering if he should ask; considering they had made a point of not prying before, he would really rather not, but if Bucky wanted to talk, Clint wasn’t going to stop him. Bucky spoke up before he had to make the decision to ask or not, much to his relief.

“’S nice I guess, just miss my music. And the dancin’. It was always real swell, pickin’ up some pretty dame and taking her out dancin’. ‘S the few times folks could forget there was a war goin’ on. Nothin’ else really mattered when you were having fun like that,” Bucky said, his expression growing more somber the more he spoke about it. He stared at the phone in his hand with troubled eyes, and Clint frowned a little, before he smacked Bucky’s leg again, this time with more force behind it. Bucky jerked his legs away, his brows furrowed with irritation.

“Quite hittin’ me!” Bucky demanded, and Clint grinned, unrepentant.

“It’s not like you can’t dance here,” Clint said instead of apologizing, and Bucky’s face cleared of irritation, looking more thoughtful, before he shook his head.

“Can’t leave the tower, or well, I shouldn’t, I guess it never stopped me before… but then I wouldn’t know where to go anyways. I gotta feeling there prolly aren’t any places for that kinda dancin’ anymore,” Bucky said, shifting his eyes away, and damn it, that was the opposite of what Clint was going for. Christ, he could barely manage his own emotions, why was he trying to manage Bucky’s again?

“What am I, chopped liver? I can dance,” Clint said, puffing out his chest, and scowling when Bucky looked at him with an amused smirked and a skeptically raised eyebrow.

“You can dance like that? Take some Lindy Hop classes or somethin’?” Bucky asked with a teasing grin, and Clint crossed his arms over his chest, glaring a little.

“Well, no, but I’ll pick it up fast. I’m a quick learner and extra bendy; circus,” Clint said, and Bucky looked at him carefully, his expression a little excited, before he frowned again. Clint threw his hands up with a dramatic sigh.

“Now what?” Clint demanded, and Bucky shook his head a little.

“We’re both fellas,” Bucky said, and Clint arched an eyebrow.

“So? Is this a gay thing, because if you were going to express some discomfort you should’ve spoken up after the first episode of Ru Paul-“ Clint began flippantly, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“No, it ain’t a… a ‘gay’ thing. I just… dunno how it would work, ‘s all,” Bucky admitted, and Clint shook his head, rocking up onto his feet.

“I’ll be the lady or the ‘dame’ or whatever. I have very nice legs and I heard my ass looks fantastic in a skirt. Although that viewing privilege doesn’t come until after the first date,” Clint said, and Bucky shook his head, smirking as he climbed to his own feet.

“Just what I was missin’; the sight of your fuckin’ hairy ass legs barely covered up by a buncha lace,” Bucky said dryly, and Clint flipped him off as Bucky laughed, before he put his hands on his hips.

“Alright, no harm in tryin’. How we gonna do this?” Bucky asked, his blue eyes bright with barely contained excitement as Clint rubbed chin, before he moved to one end of the couch.

“Help me move this, and then we’ll get this party started.”

It took a little bit to get a big enough space, and Clint was mourning the loss of his beautiful chaos, but only for a moment, because Bucky was grinning at their makeshift dance floor, before back at Clint and god, that man could sell just about anything with a smile like that. Clint lifted up his hands and gestured for Bucky to step forward.

“C’mon then, show me how to do this,” Clint said, and Bucky’s eyes gleamed as he stepped forward, reaching out and taking both of Clint’s hands in his own. Clint could distinctly feel the scars and calluses that littered Bucky’s hands, and it made Clint feel a little less self-conscious about the nicks on his own hands.

“JARVIS, play something old,” Clint called out cheekily, keeping his eyes firmly on Bucky’s, watching as the other man huffed out a laugh and rolled his eyes. Clint grinned, and Bucky grinned back as jazzy trumpet began to ooze out of the speakers.

“’Kay, I dunno much about the dame’s part, but it always seemed like…” And they were off.

About half an hour in, Clint realized that they could’ve very easily looked the steps up on the internet, but Clint decided he was having too much fun watching Bucky stumble to explain the lady’s part to him. There was something nice about Bucky’s voice, steady and full of delight, even if at times he wasn’t sure if he was telling Clint everything right. There was a lot of trial and error, lots of error, but even as Clint continued to mess up the step pattern in the beginning, Bucky seemed to be enjoying himself, his smile a constant, brilliant thing. It was a little distracting, if Clint was being honest. He was glad Bucky was having fun and not thinking about all of his friends fighting a war without him, but Christ, did he have to lay it on so thick?

“How many of your toes do you think I’ve broken so far? I’m hoping three,” Clint said cheekily, his breath catching with glee as he managed to continue to rock step in time with Bucky as the other man spun him out and quickly pulled him back in to the beat of the music. Lucky was watching attentively with his one eye, his tail wagging fast whenever Clint or Bucky spun past him and let out barks whenever Clint let out a particularly loud laugh.

 Bucky chuckled. “I’m made of stronger stuff, I’ll have ya know,” Bucky said, just ever so slightly out of breath. He fell silent as he moved Clint into twisting pretzel like move that he had just walked Clint through, and Clint bit his lip as he concentrated. Christ, he really didn’t wanna rip his arm out of his socket if he twisted the wrong way getting out of it, but within a breath they were untangled and Clint was spinning back out in a rush.

He really should feel more emasculated being tossed around like he was, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but exhilaration. He hadn’t sparred with anyone in months, and maybe this wasn’t sparring, but it sure felt like it to his heart that was beating double time in his chest as he tried to keep up with Bucky.

“You’re a fast learner,” Bucky commented as they faced each other again, his grin big and pleased as Clint managed to keep step. Clint gave him a cocky smirk and raised his eyebrows, completing the twirl Bucky threw him in flawlessly, clasping back onto Bucky’s solid hands and laughing as he was brought into a cradle again.

“I told you I was. Think I would lie to you Barnes? Your own ‘fella’?” Clint asked, glancing over his shoulder and fluttering his lashes teasingly at Bucky. Bucky stared at him for a second, his blue eyes wide, before he snorted, shaking his head fondly as he snapped Clint back out.

“You lied when you cheated at Uno-“

“Only because you did it first!”

Bucky threw his head back and laughed, the soft light of the room catching on the sweat gleaming on his temples. Clint found himself transfixed by the sound of Bucky’s laugh, rich and happy and warm and Clint’s steps stuttered momentarily as Bucky brought his eyes back to his, his mouth still ticked up in a grin.

_Oh fuck._

Of course, of fucking _course_ this had to happen to him. He was so unbelievably _fucked._

Clint was working himself up into a perfect state of panic when Bucky suddenly furrowed his brows with concentration.

“What?” Clint asked, and if he was breathless, it was definitely because of the dancing. Bucky pursed his lips slightly, before he got a mischievous look on his face that made Clint choke on his next inhale.

“Wanna try something, just… trust me?” Bucky asked, and Clint stared at him, blinking, before he plastered an easy grin on his face and tilted his chin up. _Fuck just keep moving you dumbass._

“You’re a big fat cheater, but I trust you, fucking god knows why,” Clint said, before he yelped when Bucky drew him in closer than he had before, his hands coming up to grip Clint’s upper arms. His heart stopped for just a moment at how close their faces had gotten- _fuck,fuck,fuck, there was no fucking way he noticed-_ before he suddenly felt his feet leave the ground.

“Oh shit-“ Well, that wasn’t reassuring.

Clint hit the ground ass first and felt the floor shake as Bucky landed next to him, the breath huffing out of him. Both of them sat there, stunned for a moment, before Clint laid back flat on the floor and started cackling. Lucky started barking, wobbling to his feet and walking over to start licking Clint’s face.

“What the fuck, Barnes?! How am I ever supposed to trust you after that you asshole?!” Clint wheezed, pushing Lucky’s face away from his with one hand and reaching the other under himself to rub at his abused bum. The dog gave him one more half-hearted lick, before walking back to his bed and collapsing, exhausted. Clint couldn’t help but laugh at that too; this must’ve been the most excitement Lucky’s seen since the accident.

Bucky was still staring at the ceiling in shock, before he glanced over and scowled a little bit, rubbing the back of his neck as his ears turned pick with embarrassment.

“I thought I could lift your fat ass but-“ Bucky began with a disgruntled look on his face that only made Clint laugh harder.

“But you aren’t as strong as you thought you were, mm, sergeant?” Clint teased, before he squawked as Bucky quickly rolled over and put his hands on his shoulders to push and pin him to the floor. His expression was hard, but his gaze was playful, and Clint felt his mouth dry for a multitude of reason.

“Imma make you regret you said that, Barton,” Bucky said, practically growling, his hair falling across his sweaty forehead. Clint noted distantly that he really needed a haircut, before his brain caught up with him and he sucked in a breath, the panic from before coming back with a vengeance.

Instincts took over and he curled his leg over Bucky’s hips, twisting his torso quickly and knocking the man off balance. Clint had Bucky on his back in record time, pressing a forearm to his throat and leaning into it lightly. Bucky’s breath caught and he stared at Clint with wide eyes. Clint was expecting fear, surprise, anger, but Clint could only see awe, and… something he couldn’t read. He quickly backed off, sitting back on his heels and allowing Bucky to sit up, rubbing his throat carefully. Fuck, it had been so long since he had done anything like that. It made his skin crawl unpleasantly

“You gotta teach me that move sometime,” Bucky said, his voice teasing and light. God, he had no idea, because Clint had never told him. He had never told him and what if he had killed him, what if wasn’t actually fixed and- Clint stood suddenly. He couldn’t do this right now. There was too much going on, and he felt his throat closing up and he was _not going to do this in front of him._ Whatever warmth he had felt being swung around the room was quickly growing cold, and his chest felt heavy.

Without saying another word, Clint turned on his heel and headed for his door.

He faintly heard Bucky call out, “Clint?” With concern, but he ignored him, running away because that’s what he was best at, avoidance.

By the time he climbed into the vents above the communal kitchen, his hands were trembling, and he yanked his hearing aids out of his ears. He knew he was in a full blown panic now, but there was nothing he could do; he had run from Bucky and Bucky was with Lucky, so this was his only option.

He brought his knees to his chest and dug his palms into his eyes, seeing only blue and hearing only the voice of a man he wished he had had the will to kill.

***

Bucky held his breath as he stepped onto Clint’s floor. He toed around the dirty clothes and empty bottles of soda in the living room and moved in the direction of his bedroom, deflating slightly as entered and took in the empty room, save for Lucky, who perked up as he walked in. He sighed as he greeted Lucky, kneeling to ruffle the dog’s ears.

“Hey there buddy. Clint’s not here, huh? Again,” Bucky said, frowning a little bit. Lucky just cocked his head to the side and whined a little as he licked Bucky’s face. Despite being mildly bothered, he couldn’t help but grin at the dog’s affection. “Yeah yeah, it’s good to see you too. I’ve been a little busy ‘s all. Didn’t mean to leave you alone.” Unlike some asshole.

Clint had been acting funny ever since he had run out after Bucky had dropped him on his ass. Clint had tried to wave off the whole incident when Bucky had tentatively tried to ask him what had happened. Bucky was willing to let it go like he had so many other times when Clint got into a little bit of a funk; sometimes things like that just happened in their kind of work.

But after that night, Clint hadn’t really been all there with him. He still gave Bucky way too much shit and whined about Bucky’s prowess on most video games (Call of Duty had been a piece of cake), but Bucky got the distinct impression that he was pulling away. Gone were the friendly nudges and staying up late to watch RuPaul. Before Bucky could get into that perfect space to pass out on Clint’s couch, Clint would kick him out or feign exhaustion.

That, or Clint just wouldn’t be around, like right now.

Bucky continued to stroke his hand gently through Lucky’s fur, his brows furrowing as he thought. There was no explanation Bucky could puzzle out as for why Clint had continued to avoid him. Unless… Bucky felt his ears heat slightly and he averted his eyes away from Lucky, even though there was really no need to.

He still remembered the jolt of awareness he felt when Clint had laid his head in his lap and rubbed his forehead on Bucky’s stomach. He had just stared at Clint with wide eyes as the man stretched and squinted at his expression with a petulant face.

_“If you’re gonna freeload on my floor, you have gotta be useful. Pillow duty is your first job in the many I have set up.”_

Bucky hadn’t had a reply ready, too busy caught up in the heat in his gut brought on by the brush of Clint’s nose against his stomach. It wasn’t like Steve had never done it, especially when he was sick, so there was no reason for Bucky to react like that.

But he had, and then he hadn’t stopped thinking about it.

It was ridiculous, really. He had never looked at fellas like that before. He knew objectively he could appreciate the looks of his men when they weren’t covered in mud and blood, but it had never been nothin’ like that. He had never felt that pleasant little tingle he got in his gut when he was able to charm a pretty dame into a dance with him.

Well, not until now.

And even now it felt different, but similar. Clint burned in his chest like an ember just waiting to be coaxed to life, and it was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. Bucky wasn’t sure why this was happening now. Maybe it’s because of the time. Clint had been very thorough in his history lesson, made it seem like something normal and more common than he thought it could ever be, considering he didn’t think too much of it back then.

 It could be because there was no one else around. He and Clint were attached at the hip being left behind as often as they were… or they were before Bucky went and screwed things up. And that’s really the only explanation; it had to have been something he did.

Maybe he had given too much away when they were dancing. He had thought he had been hiding his conflict pretty well, but there was something about dancin’ that just seemed to make folks more honest, him included. He had let down his guard. Maybe Clint saw something there, that flicker of curious attraction that Bucky was attempting to smother under the heel of his boot.

Neither of them really needed that right now. Bucky wasn’t staying forever; even if Clint… it just wouldn’t last very long. Would there be a point in it at all? He had had one night flings with dames he picked up at fairs or expos before, but Clint was _Clint_. It would be weird; he’d never had a pal he’d wanted to get fresh with before.

And wasn’t that embarrassing. Clint was disgusting, as was evident by his living space, but even despite that, Bucky couldn’t help but feel that thrill of affection when Clint grinned at him around a mouthful of Thai food or when he was digging his underwear out of his crotch. Bucky thought crude couldn’t be charming; ‘s why he liked going out with dames so much. They were clean and smelled good and always looked so put together, unlike most of the men he had worked with.

Clint wasn’t any of those things. Except… well, he smelled kinda nice, Bucky had found that out when he had pulled Clint into a cradle when they were dancing. It almost threw him off, and he felt his face heating helplessly at the thought. He wasn’t used to feeling so out of his depth. He always knew how to charm dames; Stevie was always wildly impressed and maybe a touch jealous about that fact, but here he was, floundering. God, Steve would probably get a kick out of this.

He should probably just talk to Clint about it, since the feelings had been lingering for long enough to be noticeable. No matter how hard he tried to crush it down, it just wasn’t working. God, he hated being the responsible one, but there was no way Clint was going to try and break this awkward stuff because he was a giant child.

Of course, first he had to find the fucker. God damn him and his hiding places.

Lucky was starting to drift to sleep just as JARVIS’s voice crackled to life above him. He managed to stay still, even though it was certainly jarring enough to snap his attention away from his uncomfortable thoughts.

“Master Bucky, the others have returned, and Captain Rogers is asking for you,” JARVIS said, and Bucky nodded, patting Lucky once on the top of the head before he stood and headed for the elevator. If he moved quicker than usual, it was not because there was a chance Clint was lingering to greet the team back.

He entered the common floor and tried not to let his disappointment show when he saw that the whole floor was empty save for Steve, who was standing in the middle of the living room with his head bowed. His position and the state of his suit sent warning bells off in his head and all thoughts of Clint disappeared under the weight of his concern for Steve’s wellbeing.

“Hey there, Stevie, glad to see you back in one piece,” Bucky said carefully as he approached. God, Steve had seen better days. His suit was scuffed to hell and there was blood in his hair, probably from a wound that had already healed, but it made Bucky feel uneasy. Steve looked up at him as he spoke up, his face clearly exhausted, but he managed to muster up a ghost of a smile for Bucky.

“Hey Buck. How were things while we were out? Lucky?” Steve asked, and Bucky shrugged one shoulder.

“Quiet as usual. I’m sure whatever happened out there was far more interesting,” Bucky said and Steve let out a chuckle that held no mirth. He ran a hand down his dirty face, before he crossed his arms over his chest and set his stance, sliding into Captain mode. Bucky felt his back straightening on instinct.

“Something weird is happening Bucky, and… well… Tony thinks it might have something to do with you,” Steve said carefully, and Bucky felt himself stiffen.

“What kinda things?” Bucky asked carefully. Steve looked torn for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure if he should say anything, but he relented after a moment of deliberating.

“It’s Hydra. They have these weapons suddenly and they’re… more advanced than anything I’ve seen from them, and Tony said the last time he had checked, Hydra was nowhere close to making anything as sophisticated as that,” Steve said, his brows furrowed in the telltale sign that he was thinking quite hard about a problem presented to him. It would be amusing to see if the situation wasn’t so serious.

“I… okay, yeah, weird, but what’s that gotta do with me?” Bucky asked, trying to get back on track. Yeah, maybe it was a little weird, but he was from the past, not the future. He couldn’t have brought anything better with him. Thankfully, Steve opened his mouth to explain, but a voice cut across him before he could speak.

“What indeed, Captain Rogers.”

Immediately, Steve’s face shut down, his jaw clenching tight as his eyes looked over Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky turned around on instinct and took a wary step back as he eyed the man who had quite suddenly appeared behind him. The man didn’t look at him, his one eye coolly watching Steve, who had dropped into parade rest. Bucky refused to follow, still untrusting, his nerves already shot for the day.

“Care to explain why the hell you’ve got a WWII soldier standing in your living room, Captain?” the man asked, his tone clearly stating his status, but Steve didn’t seem to care, his chin lifting stubbornly as he glared back at the man. For all that his body language conveyed _soldier_ , everything else proclaimed _leader._

“He dropped in for a chat, Sir” Steve said seriously, and the thinly veiled snarked caused the man’s lip to twitch with disdain. Bucky just barely stopped himself from laughing with surprise, knowing it was probably a bad idea to draw attention to himself considering he was the topic of their conversation. Which, irritating, but he wouldn’t interject; he trusted Steve implicitly.

“Oh really? He here to explain why blueprints for weapons from the 21st century are popping up in Hydra servers from the 50s? Because I’d like to hear it too,” he said.

A muscle in Steve’s jaw twitched. “We’re handling it,” Steve said shortly, before he added, “Sir.” The man frowned deeper.

“It isn’t yours to handle. Sergeant Barnes needs to be kept in S.H.I.E.L.D, where we can keep an eye on him, run tests-“ and oh hell no, he wasn’t going to be another experiment, no matter what fucking organization came for him-

“Not going to happen,” Steve cut in fiercely, and Bucky let his held breath out through his nose. Steve’s eyes darted over to him affectionately for a moment, before they snapped back when the other man slammed his hand down on one of the kitchen counters, the bang startling Bucky, but not enough to cause him to jump.

“Goddamn it Rogers! This is not a game. We’ve got people and weapons in places- _times_ \- they shouldn’t be, and _we_ don’t have the time for you to get sentimental!” the man snarled, but Steve just stood there and took it with a face of steel. When it seemed the man was finished, Steve took in one breath.

“With all due respect, Sir, there is nothing you could do at S.H.I.E.L.D. that we can’t do here. If you had found him first, I guarantee you would’ve sent him to Tony to do the testing anyways, and even if that weren’t true,” Steve continued, “Bucky is one of us. If you try and take him away, then the Avengers go freelance.”

The man’s one eye narrowed. “You really want to fight the best of S.H.I.E.L.D. just to keep a member of your ‘team’, who’s not even on active duty?”

Steve’s hands clenched where they were gripped together behind his back, before he nodded sharply. “We stopped an alien invasion on our first go round, Sir; what’s one secret government branch?” If Steve were a lesser man, he would be smirking now.

The man glared at him for a moment longer, before he suddenly chuckled and shook his head, rubbing his forehead. “Alright Captain. Christ, you stubborn son-of-a-bitch, on your ass be it,” the man said, and Bucky narrowed his eyes in confusion.

But Steve just nodded his head once, the one corner of his mouth barely ticking up. “Thank you, Sir.”

The man rolled his one eye, turning on his heel and heading towards the elevator. “Just keep us updated Captain, and call us when you figure out what’s happening,” the man said before he was gone.

Steve stood in parade rest for a moment more, before he relaxed and looked over at Bucky with a sheepish expression. “Sorry, I thought it would take longer for him to come. Seems this is really important if they got here so fast,” Steve said, and Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“And they are?” he asked slowly, and Steve chuckled.

“We liaison with S.H.I.E.L.D. It was their initiative that brought the Avengers together. Regardless, I still gotta decide what’s best for my team, which means butting heads with higher ups sometimes,” Steve said, and Bucky laughed, elbowing him in the side.

“Just like always, hmm? You sure disobey a lotta orders for a guy who gets pissy when his men go off task,” Bucky teased. Steve rolled his eyes affectionately, before he grew serious again, already getting back down to business. Christ, a visit from the brass and this?

“I called you down because Bruce wants to run more tests on you, just to see if anything has changed with you. It might help us track down what changed with Hydra,” Steve said, and Bucky shrugged one shoulder. He still wasn’t sure how it would help, but he was willing to try if Steve thought he could be useful.

“Sure, alright. Where is everyone? We starting now?” Bucky asked, and suddenly Steve’s face fell and he looked away. Bucky felt his chest knot up; oh god, someone died. Someone died and it could be his fault. Bucky watched with tense shoulders as Steve sighed before turning back to him.

“Tony, ah, got pretty banged up. Those weapons were… something else, for sure. Bruce is patching him up in the Medbay and I’m pretty sure Natasha and Thor have already gone to their floors. It was… a hard fight, but I wanted to get you ready, because I know you don’t like when they run the tests,” Steve admitted, and Bucky suddenly felt his stomach sour. God, that probably was his fault. They think it’s connected enough to him to need to poke at him again and come on, two time-based instances in the space of four almost five months? It was too coincidental.

“Fuck, Stevie, I-“ Bucky began, feeling his throat clench up slightly, before another voice cut across him.

“Not your fault, Sarg. I’m a big boy, I know how to take my lumps.” Stark looked like shit. His right arm was cradled to his chest in a sling and his face was mottled with bruises and shallow cuts. He had a feeling his torso probably had a similar image. Despite Stark’s words, it only made his chest grow heavier to see just how rough he looked.

Steve’s face grew exasperated at Stark’s appearance, but Bucky could tell his was concern was warring with gently amused affection. Behind him, Banner was looking sheepish, shrugging his shoulders at Steve’s pointedly raised eyebrows.

“Trying to stop him probably would’ve caused more damage,” Banner said as he wandered into the kitchen. Banner didn’t look too great either, clearly exhausted from the fight Steve had claimed was so hard.

“Tony-“ Steve started, his voice mildly disapproving.

“Don’t Tony me. I just saw Fury sweep out of here and that means we’re either out of line or fucked, and if I had to place bets, I’d say both,” Stark said as he walked into the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge before he hitched his hip on one counter. He looked at the bottle for a moment, before gesturing with it at Banner, who rolled his eyes but opened it obediently. Steve continued to watch with furrowed brows, his arms now crossed over his chest.

Tony took a large sip from the bottle before he sighed. “And honestly, I’d rather get unfucked as soon as possible. This is the kind of sign we were looking for that calls for Operation Blast to the Past.” At Bucky and Steve’s puzzled expressions, Stark seemed to gather himself before he sighed out through his nose. “Means we’re pulling out all the stops for sending Barnes home,” Stark said, his eyes heavy with a meaning Bucky couldn’t pick up, but Steve seemed to get just fine. He looked away from Tony, his expression screwing up for a moment, before he sighed and nodded.

“Okay. All stops,” Steve said quietly, and Stark let out a breath of relief, as if Stevie would ever put up a real fight against him. Stark’s gaze immediately turned to Bucky, his eyes glinting as he stared at him with a contemplative look. It was intense to have all of Stark’s energy focused on him, but he didn’t shy away.

“More tests for you, Sergeant. And we’ve gotta pick your brain about that weapon, see if you can give us a little more than ‘it was a big motherfucker’,” Stark said nonchalantly, but even Bucky could pick up the tension in his shoulders threatening to crawl up his neck. At that, Steve shook his head firmly.

“It can wait. We all need to rest up, including Bruce,” Steve said firmly, shaking his head as Stark started to protest. Steve placed a large hand on Stark’s back and began to lead him towards the elevator, much to Stark’s displeasure.

“I hate when you do that, you know. I know where our bedroom is,” Bucky could hear Stark complaining. He heard Steve’s voice murmur something he couldn’t hear quietly back at him, and suddenly Stark was cackling, the sound muffling as they disappeared from sight.

Bucky took a breath, running a hand through his hair. Banner was still in the kitchen, now peeling a banana sleepily and staring at the wall. After a moment, his eyes flicked over to Bucky and Bucky couldn’t help but tense a little bit. He hadn’t spoken much to Banner outside of the tests, and that made him a little uncomfortable, but all Banner did was smile a little bit.

“Taking this all okay?” he asked quietly, and Bucky blinked at him. He really wasn’t sure how to take _that_. He shrugged.

"Well as I can be,” he answered truthfully, and Banner nodded, before he cocked his head to the side and stared at him contemplatively for a moment. Banner’s gaze was more calculating than Stark’s, but no less intense.

“Give Clint some time. He’s got a lot going on right now. But you’re helping. You and the dog. Everything’s going to work out okay,” Banner said suddenly, and Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. He wanted to ask him about it, about what the hell he knew about him and Clint.

“Uh-” he managed, but the other man was already throwing his banana peel away and heading for his rooms.

“See you tomorrow then,” Banner said in farewell, and Bucky half-heartedly lifted one arm, his question already dying on his lips as he thought about what exactly tomorrow entailed. It couldn’t be anything good.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” he said to no one.

He really wasn’t looking forward to it.

***

Clint closed one eye, taking a deep breath, focusing on the target in front of him, before he released the arrow. It flew true, as he knew it would, and landed with a satisfying thud in the middle of the target.

Without missing a beat, he picked up another arrow and notched it in place, already lining up his next shot. Suddenly he froze, his bow still drawn, before lowered his bow and sighed.

“Nat, you taught me that shit, you can’t pull it on me,” Clint snipped, sounding just a little more tired than he had meant to. It had been a long couple of weeks, so sue him. Natasha walked up next to him, still as quiet as before, but Clint could feel her approaching from behind. It made him want to throw his bow down and away, but he knew that would be a dead giveaway at how unstable he still felt.

God, it was so pathetic, being so incapacitated by something that had happened months ago. To have it still haunting his dreams and freaking him out during the day. It was why he still wasn’t back in the field yet.

_That, and you can’t be trusted._

Clint turned to Natasha, trying for a smile. Nat raised eyebrow and he huffed out a sigh; it was hard to bullshit a fucking spy, let alone one that he happened to be close to. He scratched the side of his face, already dreading whatever was going to come out of her mouth.

“Trouble in paradise?” she asked, and Clint rolled his eyes, his fingers flexing on his bow as he turned his back on her penetrating stare.

“What paradise?” he asked, resolutely studying the targets in front of him.

“Bucky,” she said shortly, and Clint looked back over at her, feeling unwanted irritation welling up in his chest. Why the hell did she have to bring him up? Was he that transparent about that too?

“Oh, Jesus, boy trouble? Really Nat? That’s what you think’s got me bent out of shape? Which I’m not by the way, but if I was? It’s probably ‘cause I keep seeing the junior agents I threw off the side of a aircraft whenever I close my eyes,” Clint bit out, before he closed his eyes with a sigh, immediately regretting his defensiveness. He rubbed a hand over his face. Too honest. Damn it, maybe this whole Bucky situation was fucking with him more than he wanted it too.

He wouldn’t be surprised. The other man had crawled under his skin in a way he wasn’t prepared for, and quite frankly, didn’t want. Bucky might be all smiles in theory of dude on dude action, but there was no way in hell his delicate 40s mindset would be thrilled at Clint’s dumb ass _crush._

“It’s not that. You wouldn’t be touching your bow if it was that. So, it must be Bucky. He’s the only one you’ve been spending any time with lately,” Nat said, her voice still as neutral as her expression. Clint snorted, shaking his head.

“Jealous Nat? Maybe if you hung around more often, I’d be spending time with you instead. Tell S.H.I.E.L.D. to give you a break,” Clint said cheekily, and Natasha’s mouth quirked up in a smile.

“No rest for the wicked,” she said, still smirking slightly. Clint chuckled a little bit before he sighed and brought a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. No use trying to lie about it then. Fucking Natasha and her weird set of investigative skills.

“Yeah, maybe alright? Maybe I am having boy trouble. You gonna sit me down and paint my nails while we’re at it?” he snarked, and Natasha cocked her head to the side, clearly amused.

“I still have that purple nail polish you like,” Natasha said dryly, and Clint laughed, feeling the residual tension break suddenly. He shook his head and plopped down onto the ground, finally tossing his bow to the side. Natasha folded her legs up underneath her and sat next to him.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now,” Clint said, and Natasha shrugged, leaning over and resting her head on his shoulder.

“It’s not me you have to talk to anyways,” Natasha said, and Clint sighed softly, but didn’t argue. She was right of course. Not only did he kinda miss Bucky - God forbid he ever finds out, Clint would never hear the end of it - but he also knew he wasn’t doing so great with the fight that happened earlier in the week and all the tests he’d had to go through. It always made him twitchy, and Clint knew he wasn’t dealing with it well (yes, perhaps he had done some spying through the vents, but not in a weird way) but he still hadn’t gone to talk to him. He was kinda being a shit friend and adding more shit onto Bucky’s back with all of his elusive bullshitting. He knew he would have to go apologize for it, and he frowned petulantly. Being in the wrong sucked major ass.

“I know,” he sighed and she hummed. Clint paused for a moment, giving himself one more second to brood, before he turned his face into her hair.

“So, what can you tell me about your latest super secret spy mission?” he asked with a grin. He couldn’t see, but he knew she was smiling.

“Not much.”

“Perfect. Tell me all about it, then.”

***

Bucky sighed, leaning his head back against the wall and gliding his fingers gently through the fur on Lucky’s neck. The dog was flopped over in his lap, breathing softly, clearly almost asleep. Bucky envied him a little.

It had been one of those weeks. He didn't like going through the tests they needed, even if Stark and Banner were far from the goons that held him down and pumped god knows what into his veins. And it wasn’t like the war was better than that. He’d seen worse and hadn’t gotten all shook up like he was now. It was irritating, knowing that all it took to rattle him a little was sittin’ still and having scanners run over his body and blood drawn and run through machines that he didn’t understand the purpose of. Being outta combat so long was turnin’ him soft.

Stevie was there for most of it, making it slightly less boring and difficult, but whatever was bothering him before was still lingering whenever Bucky caught him off guard. That haunted look just wouldn’t stay away, and it was gettin’ to a point where Steve’s presence was almost as unsettling as sitting in the lab itself.

It didn’t help that whenever he looked at Steve, he remembered the way his face pinched with worry when he told him what had happened to Stark. And it wasn’t like he could forget the state Stark was in what with him always there taking readings. His bruises were already fading, but his arm was still in a sling, and every time Steve leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth before he went to grab food or field questions from S.H.I.E.L.D. a jolt of guilt hit him hard in the gut, and he had to look away.

He was used to his men gettin’ knocked around because of some shit orders in the beginning, but the guilt never really faded. This was almost worse, because Stark wasn’t a soldier and he was Steve’s fella and Bucky wasn’t even supposed to be here. It just didn’t sit right with him. So if he could sit still and let Stark and Banner figure a way to send him home, then he was more than happy to do just that.

And then there was Clint.

Bucky didn’t have the energy to even think about him and what exactly he hoped to achieve by constantly avoiding not just him, but it seemed like everyone else too. It was becomin’ irritating to have every guy in the tower come ask him where Barton was sulking around. He wasn’t his damn keeper.

Despite that, though, it seemed Lucky was just getting better and better. In fact, Bucky thought as he petted the dog’s flank, Lucky was starting to gain a little bit of pudge on his stomach. Bucky would love to take him outside to run him a bit, not just for Lucky, but for him as well, but this was okay too. Feeling Lucky breathe in and out deeply against his legs was soothing in a way he didn’t expect. Steve was right; Lucky was shaping up to be pretty good for him.

“I’ll see if someone can take you out for some exercise. Sound good buddy?” he murmured affectionately, smiling softly when Lucky thumped his tail at the sound of his voice. Just because he couldn’t get out doesn’t mean Lucky shouldn’t. He knew underneath all that Stark snark, the guy was pretty soft on Lucky. And with Steve backing him, who knows how willing Stark would be to take Lucky out for a little bit. “That’s a good boy.”

“I mean, we could always just sneak out again. Or go up to the nest. I’m sure he could run around up there. Hey, oh my god, are you really wearing that shirt?”

Bucky looked up, surprised to see Clint standing with his arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway to his room and amused smile on his lips. Bucky eyed him warily, taking in the tense line of the other man’s shoulder, before he looked down at his shirt.

“You bought it for me, so I wore it. What kind of ungrateful ass do you take me for? Don’t answer that,” Bucky warned as Clint opened his mouth, before he shut it with a grin. Bucky rolled his eyes, his hand falling back to pet Lucky. “And sneaking out now? With all that’s been happening?” Bucky snorted, and Clint shrugged, his amusement fading some.

“Everyone needs a break,” he said, pushing off the door frame and strolling over with his hands in his pockets. He sat down on the bed and sighed, rubbing his neck. An awkward silence settled over them, and Bucky purposefully kept his eyes on Lucky. Like hell was he going to touch the elephant in the room; he hadn’t been the one running away. From what Bucky could tell, he wasn’t upset, but he didn’t seem particularly remorseful either. He was just sitting there, but that didn’t stop the silence from feeling far from comfortable like it usually was.

“Alright, enough moping, get your ass up,” Clint suddenly said as he smacked his thighs as he stood up, startling Bucky with the noise. God he was jumpy. Bucky finally looked up and narrowed his eyes a little, unable to stop himself from smiling slightly with amusement when Clint smirked at him.

“’M not moping, just visitn’ my dog, asshole,” Bucky grumbled easily, and Clint rolled his eyes.

“Uh-huh. I’m gonna call Steve on your bullshit if you don’t get up. Now come on,” Clint said, before socking Bucky in the shoulder and moving towards the living room. Bucky didn’t want to risk calling Clint on his bluff, because a worried Steve was an unbearable Steve, so he pet Lucky on the head once more before he followed Clint out, the dog loping along next to him with his tongue hanging out.

Clint was already clearing a space for them, pushing bottles of water out of the way with his foot. Were they really gonna dance again? Bucky felt his stomach lurch with a bizarre mixture of excitement and worry. After the last time, Bucky wasn’t so sure that was a smart idea, but god would he love to go again.

Clint looked up at him and caught sight of the wary look on his face. He immediately rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, you’ve got a dumb look on your face and you like dancing and I’ve been kind of an asshole so let me make up for that without having to talk about it,” Clint said, avoiding his eyes a little bit as he swiped some more trash out of the way with his foot.

Bucky watched him, noting the way his bare toes curled into his carpet with discomfort before he sighed. Clint was fuckin’ shitty at apologies, but Bucky didn’t want to have to sit through one anyways. Besides he couldn’t hold it against Clint, not when he knew the other man was probably having as rough as a time as him, even if he didn’t know exactly what it was. As much as Bucky worried about it, he knew it had to be more than anything Bucky could’ve done or let slip.

“Alright. I’ll bite. Same as before?” Bucky asked, stepping away from Lucky and towards Clint. He watched as Clint’s eyes sparkled with mischief and he grinned, and Bucky felt something that was tense within him ease at it.

“Oh hell no. I’m the teacher this time. You get to be the pretty little thing on my arm,” Clint teased and Bucky rolled his eyes and flipped him off, much to Clint’s delight.

“If you’re gonna be hanging around for a little longer, I’ve got to teach you the partner dances the kids these days do. Wouldn’t want you falling out with the times, grandpa, not when you look so young and spry” Clint teased, and Bucky snorted. Smartass. He had half a mind to refuse just to fuck with him, but Bucky wasn’t known for quitting, so he set his jaw and tilted his chin up.

“Okay then. Teach me your newfangled 21st century dance,” Bucky said, smirking a little and reaching out to take Clint’s hands in his own. Clint arched and eyebrow at their linked hands for a moment, before he laughed and spun him around, letting go of his hands and grabbing his hips. Bucky immediately stiffened, his hands immediately coming up to grasp Clint’s forearms in warning. He tried desperately not to shiver as Clint clucked his tongue and carefully rubbed his thumb soothingly against his hip through his jeans. It didn’t do much to relax him.

“Easy there, Sergeant, the music hasn’t even started. Gonna back out? 21st century dancing a little bit much for you?” Clint teased, but Bucky could hear the hint of tension underneath his words. He knew Clint would back off if he asked, but he knew he didn’t want that, for one reason or the other. He forced himself to relax, turning his head over his shoulder to glare at him.

“I ain’t ducking out. Start the damn music and teach me, punk,” Bucky snarked, and Clint laughed, pulling Bucky back until his ass was settled in the cradle of Clint’s hips. To his unending irritation, he felt his ears warm, and Clint huffed out an amused snort that had Bucky glaring back at him again. Clint ignored him and instead looked to the ceiling.

“JARVIS, play something I can grind too.

There was a beat of almost judgmental silence from the robot - and golly, Stark might be an ass, but JARVIS never fails to amaze him with how emotive he is-, before he said, “Of course, Agent Barton.”

Bucky snorted at the dryly disapproving note in the JARVIS’s cool voice as something thumping started playing. “I don’t know how you managed to disappoint a robot- oh wait, yeah I do, ‘s ‘cause you’re an asshole,” Bucky laughed, and he could practically feel Clint rolling his eyes behind him, before he felt deft fingers dig tighter onto his hips. Bucky couldn’t help but stiffen again at the motion, and he felt Clint sigh next to his ear. That was not helping.

“Jesus, relax a little, would you? This won’t work if you keep tensing up,” Clint huffed almost petulantly, and Bucky grumbled a little bit, trying to relax his shoulders and back. Clint’s hand drifted to his neck and gently stroked the muscles bunching up there, and Bucky let out a tiny sigh against his will, his head dipping towards his chest slightly. That had been giving him trouble even before Clint pressed up on his back.

“There we go. Now I’ve got something I can work with,” Clint murmured quietly in his ear, and Bucky forced himself to remain relaxed and not give into the shiver that was threatening to climb up his spine.

“Get on with it,” Bucky grunted, and Clint laughed, before he pulled Bucky’s hips back as he rolled his own forward. Bucky let out a noise that was definitely not a squeak - he didn’t squeak,  thanks-, but also unintelligible, and Clint giggled.

“What the fuck?” Bucky demanded, and Clint’s giggling turned into full blown laughing.

“It’s grinding, Buck. Pretty self-explanatory. Just roll those hips like I know you know how to, you dancing queen, you,” Clint said, and Bucky felt warmth on the back of his neck. He wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but this was… not what he was expecting. He knew dancing was intimate, but this was somethin’ else. It was doing no favors to the hint of a _thing_ he had for this stupid asshole.

Suddenly, Clint shifted behind him and loosened his grip on his hips. “Hey, if this is a little much, it’s okay, I won’t make fun of you or anything,” Clint said suddenly, almost a little awkwardly as he started to pull away and Bucky felt his mind flare with alarm. Yeah, it was weird, but he was sure if he let Clint get away now, the other man would disappear again and fuck, he really didn’t want that to happen.

“No,” Bucky said firmly, forcing his hips back suddenly. Clint yelped, and immediately punched Bucky in the back. He grimaced; Clint had quite the arm.

“Easy there, you fucking animal! Christ!” Clint gasped, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh, throwing his head back, before tossing Clint a look over his shoulders.

“I don’t back down from a challenge, Barton, so get your ass over here so I can do this grinding or whatever,” Bucky said with determination. Clint blinked at him, something unreadable in his expression, before the man was sidling up to him again.

“Okay, alright, jeez, you’re pushy,” Clint said, and Bucky rolled his eyes before he carefully pushed his hips back into Clint, trying to mimic the motion the other man had tried to pull him into before.

“Perfect,” Clint said, and Bucky could hear the grin in his voice. He couldn’t help but grin too. Clint’s one hand drifted to his neck again, pulling him backwards so that Clint’s chest brushed his back. Bucky’s breath caught as Clint moved his body in one slow roll, perfectly timed with the beat, his chest and hips making heat flare up wherever they touched. This was getting dangerous; Clint didn’t know the whole story, about… about what he was thinking about him.

But instead of listening to that warning, Bucky pressed on, going where Clint guided him and resolutely not focusing on the other man’s quiet breathing in his ear. It only took a little bit before he was completely relaxed, hearing Clint chuckle behind him whenever Bucky pressed back roughly against him. It was a little strange, but Bucky could see the fun in it.

Being this close to someone, getting lost in music and moving, it was still nice and brain numbing. He didn’t have to think about everything that had happened and all the things left to come.

The music was skull thumping and loud, but he could still hear when Clint asked, “Holding up there okay, oldtimer?” Bucky laughed and elbowed him in the side even as he continued moving with the other man.

“I dunno, you tell me. Am I doin’ an okay job?” he asked, leaning his head back until it touched Clint’s shoulder. The other man looked startled to see his eyes for a moment, but he recovered quickly, grinning as he pressed his chest against Bucky’s back.

“Pretty alright for a guy from the 40s. If I’m being honest, I thought you’d have more of a problem with some guy grinding his dick on your ass, but here you are, taking it like a pro,”

Clint said with a grin, and Bucky stared at him with shock, before he laughed, his rhythm breaking slightly as he did, leaning his head back further as Clint started to laugh too, shaking his head.

Bucky reached up and covered his eyes, still grinning. He’d heard cruder, but he certainly hadn’t been expecting it then. He uncovered his face, still chuckling a little. before his grin slipped off his face a little when he noticed that Clint was watching him carefully. Clint’s boundless mirth had been replaced with something thoughtful and mildly alluring, and Bucky realized how stupid he was to think that he could get over this dumbass son of a bitch just by willing it so. Clint’s blue eyes trailed up his neck, taking in the drip of sweat sliding down his temple, before they settled on his lips.

Bucky couldn’t help but lick his lips a little bit, his mouth suddenly so very dry. Clint startled a little bit, his gaze quickly flickering up to Bucky’s. His eyes were dark, and he was breathing shallowly, and he seemed surprised by what he saw on Bucky’s face. Bucky couldn’t breathe; there was no way in hell that Clint- Bucky swallowed carefully, and Clint’s breath hitched, before he cleared his throat.

“Listen,” Clint said, his voice gravely, and this time Bucky didn’t attempt to stop the shiver that wracked his body. “Now would be a really great time to say no-homo if you’re gonna do it.”

Bucky blinked at him, his mouth working silently for a moment, before he settled on, “I… don’t know what that means.”

Clint stared at him in surprise, before he snorted and pushed him away, breaking the moment. Bucky let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as Clint directed JARVIS to turn off the music. Christ, what the fuck was _that_? He knew he had not been imagining _that_ , he was damn sure of it. The way Clint had looked at him, like… goddamn it, he really didn’t have time to get wrapped up like this. It was probably nothing, everything was different now, the dancing and the music was all kinds of charged. He sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face, grounding himself, before he turned to face Clint, who was kneeling to pet Lucky.

“Well, I’d say that lesson was a success, if I do say so myself, but, I think I speak for Lucky and myself when I say I’m beat-” Clint began, and Bucky felt his stomach begin to sink. Clint was really gonna pull that crap again, kicking Bucky out and disappearing like he had been all week.

He suddenly felt irrational anger surge up and he put a hand on Clint’s shoulder, yanking him up and around to face him.

“No, you don’t get to pull this shit again,” Bucky growled out, and Clint stared at him with wide eyes. “I know you’ve been avoidin’ me, and if it was something I did to bother you, then you shoulda just told me-” Bucky began, and Clint looked pained for a minute, before he rubbed a hand over his face.

“No.. shit, Bucky, this isn’t about you. It’s… I’ve got… this thing… ah god,” Clint groaned, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He pulled gently away from Bucky before he went over and flopped onto the couch, leaning his head against the back. Bucky watched him warily, before he moved over and sat down next to him.

Bucky tried to stay still and quiet as Clint continued to stare at the ceiling, but he could feel himself beginning to twitch almost impatiently at his side. After a few moments, Clint seemed to make up his mind and breathed out, turning to look at the space between them.

“Christ, we’re doing this? I guess we are, fuck,” Clint said mostly to himself, before he sighed, his eyes dark. “I hate talking about this. It’s… ah fuck, I haven’t talked to anyone seriously about it, and maybe I should but…” he broke off, his mouth pinched. He took another breath, before he continued. “I didn’t want you to know. You weren’t wary of me, didn’t look at me differently because you didn’t know… but I guess that’s not fair to you,” Clint said, each word coming out as if it pained him to say, his expression sour as he spoke. Bucky shifted uncomfortably.

“Listen, Clint, you don’t have to-” Bucky began, wanting Clint to stop looking so unsettled. Clint just shook his head, and Bucky fell silent.

“I know I don’t. I know you’d let it be and we’d never talk about it again but… I don’t want to do that to you. I’ve been kind of an asshole.” Bucky snorted and Clint smirked a little bit, before he grew solemn again. “And you should know why,” Clint continued, and Bucky didn’t say anything, just nodded slowly. Clint hesitated for a second, before Bucky heard him quietly murmur ‘ah fuck it’ and took a breath.

“Something happened a little bit ago. Some asshole messed with my head, made me do stuff I didn’t want to do. Said things I didn’t want to hear and I… I sometimes think, that he’s still got me. That at any second I could just snap and more people will die,” Clint said softly, his expression pained, and Bucky could read the shame in the tightness of his eyes. Bucky had no idea mind control was possible, but after being transported to a completely different century, he was willing to concede that that wasn’t impossible.

Bucky hesitated, unsure if he should say something. He knew anything he could say would be hokey, or forced, so instead he reached out his arms and pulled Clint roughly into a hug. He felt Clint stiffen in his arms for a moment, before he relaxed into it, letting his forehead rest against Bucky’s chest. Bucky felt Clint clench his fingers into Bucky’s shirt, and he squeezed the back of

Clint’s neck, mimicking the motion Clint had used before.

After a few beats of silence, Clint shuddered and pulled back, and Bucky let him go without protest. Clint’s eyes weren't red, Bucky wasn’t expecting them to be anyways, but his expression was looser, even if there were demons still lurking in the depths of his eyes.

Clint looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it’s whatever, it doesn’t matter now, I just thought you should know, since we’re spending all kinds of time together,” Clint said gruffly,  rubbing his forehead as he did so.

“Knowin’ doesn’t change how I think about you,” Bucky said, and he wasn’t lying. He knew Clint was hiding something and dealing with that something poorly, but Clint hadn’t actually done anything wrong from what he could tell. Still, Clint arched one skeptical eyebrow at him and Bucky glared.

“’M pretty sure you’re still the only fella I’d let grind with me,” Bucky said, the word strange on his tongue, but it had the desired effect. Clint let out a surprised bark of laughter, before he shook his head and relaxed back against the couch.

“No-homo,” Clint said dryly, and Bucky sighed.

“I still don’t know what that means,” Bucky said, knowing he sounded put out and petulant, but unsure how to fix it once it was out of his mouth. And Clint, the bastard, just shrugged his shoulders unapologetically and looked over at him with a shit eating grin.

“Look it up,” he said still smirking, before he pushed himself off the couch and stretched, trying to shake off the discomfort of being so honest. Bucky let him get away with it, watching as he went to mess with his TV.

“Mario Kart?” Clint asked as he fiddled with the cables. Bucky felt his shoulders relaxing as he realized that Clint wasn’t going to run this time, and just that fact made him grin.

“Sounds good.”

***

“Meeting in the conference room in five.”

Clint carefully pretended not to hear Steve giving the command as he carefully added the last coat of red to Natasha’s toenails. He knew better than to think the Avengers ever got a true rest day, but he was enjoying having Nat around, more so than he would ever admit aloud. The two day uninterrupted break she had was bound to end sooner rather than later.

Natasha smirked a little and wiggled her toes at him in thanks, before throwing her legs off the side of the couch. She stood and flipped her hair over one of her shoulders before bending and kissing his forehead. He rolled his eyes and reached out to shove her, but she dodged easily, making Bucky snort from where he was seated beside him.

“If you spill one drop of paint on that couch, Barton, you’re never going to get another arrow out of me for the rest of our lives,” Tony threatened as he passed by the back of the couch, and Clint rolled his eyes.

“Bite me, Stark,” he shouted back.

“You’ve gotta ask nicer than that, Barton,” Tony returned. Bucky laughed and Clint elbowed him in the side. Bucky ignored him, much to his dismay, and he huffed, turning back to the bottle.

“Thought you were supposed to be on my side,” he grumbled, and Bucky shrugged one shoulder.

Clint capped up the nail polish before pushing his feet against the arm of the couch and resting his head back against Bucky’s shoulder. The other man didn’t look away from the screen in front of him, clearly enraptured in the thrill of _Alien vs Predator_ , but he shifted so the back of Clint’s neck wasn’t digging into the bony part of his shoulder. Clint couldn’t help but grin a little at that.

He wasn’t sure what it was about spilling the beans about the mind fuck situation, but Clint suddenly found the whole-might-have-a-thing-for-a-WWII-vet issue to be less of a problem. Clint hadn’t thought he had it in him to share anything about what happened, and even if he hadn’t told Bucky everything, he had told him enough. And Bucky hadn’t even batted an eye. Nothing had changed between them. He didn’t look at Clint like he might snap, nor did he look at him with pity. He still bitched about the current season of The Bachelor and flicked water at Clint when he insisted on washing the dishes by hand. Clint felt stupid for running, and he felt even stupid-er thinking he could outrun how he felt about him.

If this taught Clint anything, it was that Bucky was too good for some spaced out benched Avenger. Hell, Bucky had been through a whole damn war and didn’t go on avoidance binges. Maybe Clint wasn’t running anymore, but that sure as hell didn’t mean he was going to push whatever this was. He had no idea what he was thinking, teaching Bucky how to grind. That had almost ended in tears, very awkward tears. He liked Bucky’s companionship as it was, and it was all he could really take now anyways.

“That means you too, Clint,” Steve said as he passed, shocking Clint out of his musing. Clint paused for a moment, unsure if he heard right. He hadn’t been cleared for duty by anyone because he refused to talk to the shrinks at S.H.I.E.L.D, and he couldn’t be put back on duty without a psych evaluation. Not with what had happened. He wasn’t sure how going to a meeting now made him feel, but his body was responding anyways, stretching his legs out so he could stand up.

Bucky finally looked away from the movie and up at him, his blue eyes curious and warm. Clint felt a dumb little thrill that he pointedly ignored, grinning at the other man.

“Duty finally calls. And it’s not an excuse to get out of taking Lucky to the bathroom this time,” Clint said, and Bucky chuckled, before his brows suddenly furrowed and he jabbed Clint in the thigh with a fist. Clint laughed, and Bucky rolled his eyes but relaxed again, shaking his head.

“Damn menace,” Bucky grumbled and Clint winked, shooting him a finger gun that Bucky swatted out of his face.

Bucky suddenly smiled mischievously and leaned in closer. Clint tried not to lean away just for his own damn sake. Bucky was fucking lethal. “Hey, if everything turns out okay in there, we should go out again,” Bucky said quietly, and Clint arched an eyebrow.

“Tonight?” he asked, but it wasn’t a no. In fact, he was kind of dying to get out of the tower with Bucky again; their last and only trip ended with way more blood than Clint had been intending. He knew it was probably a terrible idea, but he found he didn’t really care all that much.

Bucky shrugged one shoulder. “Go to your meeting or whatever. Then we’ll see. But I wanna see more of this New York before I go,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft at the thought. Clint grinned, already sure he was going to take Bucky out, damn what happened in the meeting.

“It’s almost like you’re trying to get rid of me,” Clint said with faux distress, and Bucky tapped the side of his nose and pointedly turned back to the TV screen. Clint shoved the side of his head, making Bucky snort into his fist, before he made his way to the conference room.

Clint stared at the conference room doors, feeling like this might change everything. The warmth in his chest from sitting with Bucky was dissipating, and was slowly being replaced with dread. He wasn’t sure he was ready for this, as much as he wanted to be, and that was where the true disappointment sunk in.

He hesitated for a moment more before he shoved the door open and slipped inside. Steve glanced up at him and gave him an encouraging smile, before he turned back to the tablet in front of him, his brows furrowed. Natasha and Bruce mirrored the expression as they leaned over his shoulder to look. Tony wasn’t even trying to look busy, his feet thrown up onto the conference table and his arms crossed in front of his chest. Or, well, his one arm; the other was still strung up, but on the plus side, his bruises were pretty much all the way faded. He met Clint’s eyes briefly and smirked a little before he clapped his hands together.

“Great! The whole gang’s here! Time to get started then,” he said, taking his legs off the table to swivel to face Steve. Steve’s expression was grim as he nodded once at Tony, setting the tablet down on the table and leaning back in his chair. Tony flashed him a smile that held little mirth before he instructed JARVIS to bring up a hologram in the middle of the table.

“After our last less than fun run in with our secret admirers, I had JARVIS do some digging.” Tony said. “Of course, their defenses were slightly more advanced,-I’m almost embarrassed I didn’t think about cheating through time travel, I’m kidding Steve, don’t look at me like that- but even 70 years of innovation has nothing on J,” Tony said with a hint of pride, before gesturing to a grainy picture on the table in front of them.

“This is Dr. Gregor Neumann. Picture was found hidden with some weird shit behind some tough walls. It dates back to Cap’s time. I had JARVIS run his face through facial recognize and it turns out our pal here was born twenty years after the war. And, double weird, the picture was found along with a few weapon designs from our time,” Tony said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

Bruce’s face pinched across the table as he leaned forward. “It’s almost like-“

“They switched places,” Clint said quietly, and all eyes except Natasha’s flickered up to him in a bit of surprise, as if they had forgotten he was there. He rolled his eyes.

Tony recovered first, snapping his fingers and pointing at him. “Bingo,” he said as he stood up and circled the table. “But I thought it was weird when I looked in the files that there was no evidence of the good Doctor on anything passed the current date 70 years ago. Sure, the schematics of previous designs continued to evolve over time, but it’s like he’s moving through the 40’s at the same pace Barnes is.”

“Which means it’s only going to get worse,” Natasha said as she leaned back, her face expressionless save for the troubled glint Clint could read in her eyes.

“Yup,” Tony said, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously. “Unfortunately, none of these files hint at the weapon Bucky was talking about. If Hydra was smart, they would’ve destroyed the plans as soon as the job was done. However, if I had to guess, they haven’t even thought about doing it. But it’s clear it’s not on their computers. They’re either paranoid or wary of my intelligence, both amusing prospects. Regardless, that’s where you come in, Barton.”

Clint had been more interesting in studying the different schematics on the table, but he looked up sharply as Tony spoke. This was what he wanted it, wasn’t it? To be useful again? But for some reason, his stomach was sinking and his chest was growing tight.

“What do you mean, this is where I come in,” he asked warily, and Steve finally spoke up.

“Tony found a Hydra bunker that’s used for storage. It’s a bit of a long shot,” Tony let out an offended sound that Steve ignored, “But we still want to try and get our hands on the hard copy of those papers if we can. You and Natasha would be the best for infiltration. We don’t want to send her in on her own, and well, don’t you think it’s about time you got back in the field?” Steve asked, his voice firm, but his eyes gentle. He knew if he backed down, Steve would allow it, but he would be disappointed and damn it he really didn’t want to disappoint Captain freaking America.

“S.H.I.E.L.D hasn’t cleared me yet,” Clint pointed out, and Steve sighed a little bit.

“Yes, I’m aware. But we need you on this. I’m willing to put you out there because I trust you, Clint, and so does everyone else. When you get back, you should consider going and getting cleared,” Steve said, his eyes hard, living up to the fearless leader vibe he gave off so often.

He stared at Steve for a moment, feeling all eyes on him once more, before he looked down at the table again, his hand coming up to rub at his mouth.

“I don’t take my bow. If it’s infiltration, I won’t need it anyways,” Clint said firmly as he looked up. He knew he’d feel naked without it, but he didn’t feel comfortable with it yet. Not when Nat was going to be there. He just needed a little more time. Steve frowned, and opened his mouth surely to argue, but Natasha stepped up beside Steve and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s capable without it Steve. I’ll be there,” she said shortly. Steve watched her for a moment, before he sighed.

“No bow, but we’re gonna talk about other options,” Steve said, and Clint shrugged one shoulder. Fair enough. Steve nodded once, before he turned away from Clint and towards Tony.

“We should start planning for the mission now, since we’re pressed for time-“ Steve began, before he was cut off by the assemble alarm. Steve frowned a little bit, before he ran a hand through his hair. Nat looked up at the speakers, before back at Clint, a question in her eyes. Clint shook his head once, and Nat nodded, no judgement in her eyes, before she slipped out of the room, already heading toward the Quinjet.

Clint felt a large hand on his shoulder and he looked over at Steve, who was grimacing still, but his face loosened some when Clint looked at him.

“I hope you come out with us again soon.” He squeezed his shoulder once, before rushing out of the room as well. Clint sat there for a moment longer, staring at the empty conference room with his mind racing. They want him back on a mission, and not a little wet your feet mission, but a important mission. One that affects Bucky in a big way. God, he didn’t feel ready, but he had to be. This sucked ass. After a few breaths, he exited the room, heading back towards where Bucky was still laying.

Bucky perked up a little when he walked in. “Oh hey! I thought you were going with?” Bucky asked hesitantly, and Clint smiled in what he hoped was a disarming way.

“Nah, but I do gotta super secret spy mission on the horizon,” he said in a faux whisper. Bucky’s eyes gleamed and he grinned.

“’S one of those where ya gotta kill me if ya tell me?” Bucky asked, trying for solemn and failing miserably. Clint, however, had a wonderful poker face, and he managed to nod seriously, which cause Bucky to snort and kicked at his thighs.

“That mean we sneakin’ out?” Bucky asked mischievously, and Clint scratched the side of his cheek. With this new knowledge of the situation he had, he had a feeling that was a really bad idea, but fuck it, he needed a drink and some fresh air.

“Fuck yeah."

Bucky whooped and Clint couldn’t help but grin.

***

Bucky pulled on the sweatshirt Clint thrusted at him without comment. It was still a touch warm in September, but there was just enough of a nip of fall air that he didn’t mind it.

“Hood up, Barnes. You’re not only our precious, but I’m assuming Hydra’s too,” Clint said as he put up his own hood. Bucky had no idea what the hell had happened in the meeting to warrant this, but he wasn’t going to push. The casual mention of Hydra had him on edge now too, but he tried not to let it get to him.

Clint proceeded to grin and bat his eyelashes. “To think, I get to take the most wanted girl to prom.” Bucky snorted and shoved an elbow hard into his gut before he started to the elevator.

“Asshole,” he heard Clint mutter, and he couldn’t help but grin to himself a little bit, relaxing minutely. Perfect.

He’d never say it out loud, but he was glad Clint was hangin’ around more often, and, more to the point, glad he agreed to come out tonight. He was sure Clint was gonna disappear for awhile after admitting what had been eatin’ him, but he was more than pleased that it had turned out in his favor, even if it wasn’t helping his infatuation much.

It also didn’t help that as soon as they stepped out of the doors of the tower, he felt Clint slip his hand through the crook of his elbow. He chuckled a little when Clint starting to drag him with a little bit of force, shooting him a mischievous look over his shoulder. Bucky couldn’t help but privately feel pleased, remembering the gals that used tuck their hands into his elbow like that when he took them out for a spin on the town. Bucky knew this wasn’t anything like that, but that didn’t stop him from preening about it slightly.

Not that he could really compare Clint to the dames in the first place. For one, his arms were muscular in a way Bucky didn’t know he liked until it was looped through his. Clint wasn’t dainty at all, and it was a lil weird, but mostly alluring in a way he wasn’t expecting. This whole bisexual thing was something else. Didn’t even know it was something he could miss. 21st century was pretty swell.

“Can’t get smashed, but how does a drink sound, soldier?” Clint suddenly asked, breaking Bucky from his mildly embarrassing mental tangent. Bucky shrugged his one shoulder, forcing himself to not look guilty or embarrassed. Christ he really wouldn’t know how to explain that one.

“Sure, sounds swell.”

That was how he found himself seated nursing a beer that didn’t taste like watered down piss while Clint told a long winded story about Steve. It was amusing to hear about how Steve handles a punch to his pride when he’s getting bested, but he found that his heart wasn’t really in it as much as he was expecting. He nodded at all the right places, and chuckled at the end, but he couldn’t help but feel a little somber. Being outside was nice, but it made him miss home. He would give anything to see neighborhood in Brooklyn, even if it was vastly different now.

It was weird that the homesickness was hittin’ him now. Now, when he had Clint grinning and joking, when he was revealing in the newness and freedom of the time he happened to be stuck in. Maybe it was all the talk of Steve, but he didn’t think so.

He wished for a blinding second he could show Clint off to his Mama and sisters, but that thought was not only impossible in the time distance, but in a thousand other ways. Clint wasn’t his, and more importantly, his Mama wouldn’t be all that pleased with his interest in Clint. Not back then.

He grunted when Clint elbowed him, making him slosh his beer a little bit. He glared at him from over the rim of his glass, rolling his eyes when Clint just smirked.

“Why the long face, Barnes? Am I not entertaining enough?” Clint asked, feigning offence as he put his hand to his chest. Bucky felt a little sheepish; they had come out to have fun, not for him to mope about the past in any capacity.

“’S nothing,” he said. “Tell me another story ‘bout Stevie.”

Clint gave him a skeptical look. “Doesn’t look like nothing,” Clint pushed carefully, and Bucky sighed, scratching his jaw.

“Just miss Brooklyn a lil. Never thought I’d be in New York ever again, if I’m being honest. Thought I’d die in the war. I wonder what it looks like now,” he admitted partially, but Clint just hummed and folded his arms up on the bar.

“I was raised in Bed Stuy, so I guess I understand the charm. Maybe you can hassle Cap into taking you out there. Just gotta flash those pretty blues at him and he’ll crumple like wet paper,” Clint said teasingly, and Bucky snorted, shoving Clint. Maybe he would; Steve would be the only one to really remember what he was thinking about anyways. He’d like to visit with Clint once too if he could, just to see where he grew up. Christ, that was a bit much, even for him. He swiped a hand down his face with a sigh, before he hoped off of the stool.

“C’mon. Wanna see some more of these 21st century sights,” Bucky said, and Clint quickly downed the rest of his glass, wiping his mouth off with the back of his sleeve and smacking his lips. Bucky tried not to stare.

“Alright, alright. Pushy geez.”

Clint hadn’t been a great guide, but he was fantastic company, something Bucky already knew. Clint had walked him down the street they were on, before drifting down another and not doing much besides saying “I guess that’s what this streets called” and “this looks cooler from on top of the Avengers Tower” and seemed more interested in listening to Bucky point out the few differences he could see. He hadn’t visited up here much when he was younger, but he did enjoy seeing Central Park. It was also nice that Clint maintained keeping their arms linked, as much as he tried to ignore how it made him feel. By the time they were walking back, Bucky was relaxed, his stomach aching just a lil from laughing so hard, something he was used to by now, spending time with Clint. Dumbass.

As soon as they stepped onto Clint’s floor Lucky bounded up to them, and Clint kneeled almost immediately, reaching out to ruffle his ears affectionately. Bucky watched with a small smile on his face, before he bent down and greeted Lucky as well, chuckling as the dog licked at his cheeks, which he grudgingly allowed.

When he stood, he noticed Clint was yawning, but trying to hide it behind a fist. Christ, the night was pretty much over, and he had no other reason to stay, but god did he want to.

“I should go. Let you rest for your super-secret spy mission,” Bucky said teasingly, and Clint grinned back at him, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t even know when I’m leaving. You could stay if you wanted? We could play Mario Kart?” Clint asked, almost hopefully, but Bucky knew Clint was tired and he also knew anything about Stevie, he knew how much the man liked to plan.

“You know Steve’s gonna get you up and talkin’ bout that mission soon as he’s back, and you need sleep for that,” Bucky said firmly, chuckling when Clint huffed. God, Bucky liked to think he had a little more discipline from being whipped into shape by the military, but Clint was testing that like nothing else really had at the moment. Clint looked put out for a moment more, before he bounced back with a smirk, cocking one hip up slightly.

“Isn’t this usually the part where the fella kisses his date goodnight?” Clint teased, wiggling his eyebrows, and Bucky felt his throat tighten a little at the prospect. They hadn’t… that wasn’t a date. It wasn’t. But oh Christ, that certainly explained the touchin’ and stuff. There was no way Clint had taken him out like that without sayin’ anything, but now he was thinkin’ about it and he couldn’t stop. Maybe 21st century wooin’ was even more different than he could’ve imagined. Bucky tried not to, but he could feel himself flushing a little at the idea.

Clint’s face suddenly pinched and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, joke in poor taste, I guess. I’ll see ya tomorrow,” Clint said, a smile on his face, but it had faded some and god, Bucky didn’t want that, he didn’t want that at all. Clint had been messin’ around, and Bucky had made it all funny with how weird he was acting.

“Wait,” Bucky blurted as Clint started to turn, and Clint paused, arching one eyebrow at him. Bucky’s mouth worked for a moment; he knew he had to say something, but he wasn’t sure what. What could he say to make this less awkward? He shoulda just let him walk.

Clint looked a little concerned now, and he was opening his mouth to say something. Bucky panicked; he had no idea what he would say to whatever Clint was going to ask. So maybe that’s why he surged forward and pressed his mouth to his to stop his words.

Clint made a surprised noise, stilling. It wasn’t so much a kiss than it was a mashing of lips, and if Bucky’s face wasn’t already flush, it would have at that. He usually had much more grace, but it seemed that when it came to this, everything fell apart. Clint remained still and stiff, and Bucky knew he had made one hell of a mistake. And if he thought fixin’ things were gonna be hell before, he didn’t even wanna think about how he was gonna keep Clint around now.

Bucky began to pull back, mind racing, but a strong hand caught the back of his neck and pulled him back in and then suddenly Clint was kissing him back.

Clint was kissing him _back_.

Clint’s fingers brushed his short hair as he pressed forward until their chests were touching, and Bucky let out a surprised moan as Clint sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. Clint immediately took his parting lips as an invitation, and suddenly Bucky had an enthusiastic tongue in his mouth and he was beyond on board with this. Bucky wasn’t sure what the hell he was expecting when he had dove in like the impulsive dumbass he was, but he was enjoying to outcome too much to feel any regrets.

He was sure it was going to feel more strange, mackin’ on a fella, but it wasn’t that different. Besides the hard lines of Clint’s chest pressed up against his and the stubble scraping his chin in a thrilling way he wasn’t expecting, he knew what he was doing. He was good at this, and was gratified when Clint sighed into his mouth as if he was agreeing.

After a few long moments, Bucky wasn’t sure how long, Clint pulled his head back a little bit with one parting nip to his bottom lip. Bucky watched as Clint kept his eyes closed even as he leaned away, his cheeks slightly flushed and his mouth bright red with abuse. It made a thrill run up Bucky’s spine.

And then Clint was looking at him and Bucky’s heart started beating double in his chest at the expression of want and surprise and tentative hope so clear in Clint’s eyes.

“One hell of a good night kiss, Sarg. This how you treat all the ladies?” Clint rasped after a second, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh,

“Nah, just you. Guess you could say you’re getting special treatment,” Bucky said, reaching up to brush his thumb gently against Clint’s swollen bottom lip. Clint leaned into his hand slightly, holding his gaze with clever blue eyes that seemed to see right through him. It made Bucky swallow hard, and Clint smirked a little bit, before he looked away, his face suddenly darkening.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Clint asked, and Bucky knew exactly where he was going, and he didn’t want that. He already knew to a degree what had happened, and it hadn’t changed things before and it certainly wasn’t going to change things now.

“No. But it’s a hell of a lot more fun that way,” he said softly, and Clint snorted, but he didn’t disagree. Instead, he sighed out and shut his eyes again. Bucky watched as his lips slowly curled up in a smile and he opened his eyes again.

“God, you’re something else Barnes,” he breathed out, tipping his head forward to rest it gently on Bucky’s collar bone. Bucky felt something warm inside of him unfurl at the sight of Clint’s mussed hair just underneath his chin, and he couldn’t help but bring a hand up to gently pet the hair on the back of his head.

After a beat, Clint looked up at him and grinned, his eyes full of mirth. “Did you look up no-homo yet?” Clint asked and Bucky laughed, leaning forward to kiss him, just because he knew he could. He was a little dizzy with that knowledge, half a second away from laughing out loud with exhilaration. Clint appeared surprised, but he didn’t seem to mind it, his smile growing a little bit.

“I didn’t look it up, but I don’t think this is one of those situations,” Bucky said, and Clint chuckled.

“You really should,” Clint said with a grin, before he shifted his gaze a little to the side, looking sly.

“You gonna stay the night, Sergeant?” Clint asked, looking up at him through lowered lashes, a smirk settling on his face. Bucky blinked at him in surprise, warmth pooling in his stomach at the idea. He didn’t know what it would feel like cuddlin’ up to a guy like Clint, but he really wanted to find out. He couldn’t though, not now, not when everything was so fresh, he needed time to think, just a lil. He hadn’t seen this coming, not by a long shot.

“Tempting, but I’m anything but easy,” Bucky said lightly, and Clint rolled his eyes, letting it go easily, not even a hint of hurt in his expression.

“Yeah, I’ll say, you giant hard ass,” Clint grumbled, and Bucky shoved his shoulder as Clint laughed. They settled after a beat, and Clint grinned mischievously at him.

“Do I get an actual good night kiss now?” Clint asked innocently, and Bucky huffed, rolling his eyes, before leaning in and pressing his lips firmly to Clint’s. Clint tried to push, because he was an ass, but Bucky just pulled back and lightly pecked his lips once more before he pulled away completely, putting some distance between them. Clint looked a little put out, but he grinned all the same when Bucky gave him the sternest look he could manage with his head feeling so light.

“Was hoping for at least one more steamy good bye kiss,” Clint said, and Bucky tried to hide his smile.

“Clint Barton, you’re gonna make a dishonest man outta me,” Bucky growled, and he chuckled when Clint visibly shivered. “Now, seriously, good night,” Bucky said firmly, before turning on his heel and beating a hasty retreat, knowing it would be far too easy to climb into bed with Clint right that instant. He shook his head firmly

“It’s so hard to see you leave, but boy do I love to watch you go, Buck!” Clint shouted, and Bucky flipped him off without turning around. Clint’s laugh echoing behind him only added to the lightness in his chest, a lightness he hadn’t felt in a while.

As he flopped on his own bed, he sighed, feeling ridiculous but content. Jesus. Jesus. He couldn’t stop the laugh now, throwing his arm over his eyes.

He had no fucking clue how this was going to work, but he was looking forward to figuring it out.

***

Clint fiddled with his screwdriver, his legs crossed in his seat as he leaned over his arrows. He was trying to concentrate, honest, but with everything that had happened the day before, he was sure he had earned a few mental lapses.

He had taken his aids out in an attempt to focus in on only what he was doing, but instead it gave him more room to concentrate on the memory of Bucky’s mouth against his and the way his eyes looked when he said he was ‘sweet’ on him. Him. Clint ran a hand through his hair letting out a huff of disbelief. He would be so sure it had been a dream if he had actually slept after Bucky left, but sleep came harder than usually with his heart pounding like it was.

He put his screwdriver down and rested his forehead on the table. He knew this was a bad idea for so many reasons. If Nat could see him right now, she would give him so much shit. Who had time for giddiness like he felt now; he was a kick ass sort of ex-superhero, not a teenager. And yet here he was, getting all twisted about someone who couldn’t even stick around.

It almost made it worse that he was so wrapped up in this. He got physical attraction, lust, but he knew that wasn’t what was turning his stomach oh so pleasantly at the moment. Sure, that was there too; after all, how could he not notice the bulk of Bucky’s shoulders and back when he kept buying his graphic T’s too small. But it was almost secondary, and that in and of itself was a terrifying prospect that Clint wasn’t sure he wanted to identify just yet. For now, lust. He could do lust.

Especially because there was no way whatever Bucky was feeling went passed curiosity. Bucky was something amazing, and Clint had way more blood on his hands than he would ever be comfortable completely sharing. He wasn’t half as put together as Bucky, and he hadn’t treated him that great in the past anyways. The most he had done was sneak him out of the house and play video games sometimes. There was nothing else there for Bucky, but Clint knew he was just pathetic enough to take what he was given from Bucky, even if it was just a few half hearted kisses hidden in his bedroom.

And then there was his mission. He was less enthused about that. He knew he needed to get back in the game, he knew it would help him get over what happened, but he just wanted to keep hiding. It was easier that way. He was scared he’d get into the op and remember how much he loved it and beg to be back and have to face S.H.I.E.L.D again. All those agents… He rolled his head from side to side, feeling his gut clench uncomfortably.

He felt Lucky nudge his head up under Clint’s hand and Clint smiled a little bit, lifting his head up and petting Lucky with a smile.

“Good boy, Lucky. You’d make a sweet but fugly ass therapy dog,” Clint said, and Lucky thumped his tail with delight, looking at him brightly with his one eye. As he turned in his chair to get better access he suddenly realized someone was lingering in his doorway.

He snapped his head over, his shoulders tense, before they relaxed in favor of his chest tightening instead. Bucky was leaning his shoulder casually against his door frame and watching him with a small affectionate smile on his face. Clint had no idea what the hell Bucky was thinking, looking at him like that, but it was definitely doing things to him he wasn’t sure he wanted right now. Had he always looked at him like that? Clint was sure he would remember. Probably.

He fumbled for his aids, putting them in quickly before turning back to Bucky, smirking a little bit.

“Creeping now, Barnes? I thought we were past the longing side eyeing,” Clint said, and Bucky huffed, rolling his eyes before he pushed off of the door frame and stepped further into the room, stuffing his hands into his pockets almost self-consciously.

“When I called your name, you didn’t answer, and I didn’t wanna sneak up on you,” Bucky admitted, before grinning a little. “Wasn’t it you told me not to sneak up on spies?” Bucky asked and Clint leaned back in his chair, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I’m surprised you remembered,” Clint said, and Bucky shrugged one shoulder.

“Don’t like makin’ the same mistake twice,” he replied, before falling silent.

The quiet that crept in wasn’t as awkward as he thought it would be. He was expecting second thoughts, for Bucky to come in looking sheepish and embarrassed, which would be fine, Clint wouldn’t expect anything less, but instead Bucky looked calm, relaxed, almost happy.

“So, come in here for anything in particular, Sarg?” Clint asked, cocking an eyebrow at him, and Bucky chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Wanted to see you,” he said quietly, and to Clint’s horror, he felt his cheeks warm slightly at the earnest expression on Bucky’s face. This was the end of him, that right there. No one was allowed to have that kind of embarrassing power over him. “But I also wanted to know if you wanted to spar with me? I know you’ve got an assignment comin’ up, and seeing as I’ve never seen you doin’ anything other than cryin’ about losing video games and eatin’ take out, I’m guessing you’re a lil outta shape,” he said teasingly, and Clint let out an offended gasp.

“You come into my house, my _room_ and-“ Clint blustered, and Bucky grinned, the corners of his eyes creasing attractively.

“Just ‘cause you know I’m stuck on you doesn’t mean I’m not gonna be honest,” Bucky said, and Clint rolled his eyes. “Besides, I could use a refresher too, and maybe learn somethin’ new.”

“’Stuck on you’, god, you and your slang,” Clint muttered under his breath, before he sat back and rubbed at his mouth with his hand. Sparring. He really hadn’t done that in a long time, and if he wasn’t taking a bow, he needed to be sharp. Bucky had a point. And he knew about what had happened with the mind thing, so that wasn’t a good excuse anymore. Although he still wasn’t sure if Bucky could take him down properly if he snapped, was he really willing to take that chance-

“Hey,” Bucky said softly, and whoa, he was a whole lot closer Clint noticed vaguely. “I trust you. And I wanna help you get ready for this thing you’ve got, but that means you gotta trust me too. I won’t let you hurt me,” Bucky said, and Clint knew he wasn’t lying. He wasn’t sure Bucky was capable of lying- no wait, he totally was, cheating bastard. And then Bucky was smirking, “Not like you could anyways.”

Clint scoffed, standing up and tilting his chin up at Bucky, who just looked at him with amusement. “You just want an excuse to get me on my back, don’tcha, soldier boy?” Clint asked with a smirk, and Bucky snorted, but he couldn’t hide the flush slowly climbing up his neck. That was gratifying to see, and suddenly he was much more interested in sparring. For completely professional mission related reasons.

“You’re a menace, Barton,” Bucky said, his voice slightly raspy, and Clint just grinned.

“To the mats then, Sergeant Barnes,” Clint said cheekily, before sliding past him and towards the elevator.

There was a new sort of tension between them, weird, but Clint couldn’t deny it was a bit thrilling as well. All the reasons why this was so awful were kept at bay by the brush of Bucky’s elbow against his arm. He mentally rolled his eyes at the himself; he was far past the teenage stage of dealing with people he wanted in his bed, but apparently that went all out the window when faced with an ancient time traveling soldier. It was just his luck, wasn’t it?

Bucky looked around the training room curiously as soon as they stepped inside and Clint smirked a little, crossing his arms. Bucky caught his looked and narrowed his eyes at him a little bit.

“It’s neat lookin’. I dunno what half of the machines do, but I know how to spar, which is what we’re here to do,” Bucky said, wandering over to one of the big blue mats at the far end of the training room.

Clint swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. Right. Spar. He flexed his fingers into fists, before relaxing his hands again as Bucky looked over his shoulder, a challenge clear in his eyes.

“Well? You comin’ Barton?” Bucky asked, and Clint forced himself to breathe out and nod.

“You’re gonna regret asking me to come over there Barnes,” Clint said easily as he stepped onto the matt, rolling his shoulders as he did so. Bucky rolled his eyes, but watched him carefully all the same.

“If you wanna back down at any time, you just tell me Clint. I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna keep pushin’ if you can’t take somethin’,” he said carefully, and Clint chuckled a little. He was still uneasy, but it wasn’t Bucky’s fault. And besides, he did need this, and he did trust Bucky, and while there was a need to impress him, it wasn’t quite the same as he need to prove himself to Steve or hell, even Natasha. This was just Bucky. Not his team mate, not his co worker. Just Bucky. He could do this.

“Just say you’re scared and we can go do something more fun,” Clint said, arching an eyebrow, and Bucky’s jaw tightened slightly with mock irritation.

“See, I was gonna go easy on ya, but now I’m thinkin’ it might be beneficial to knock you down a peg,” Bucky mused and Clint laughed as Bucky dropped into a fighting stance. It was loose, and clearly scrappy, and while Clint knew Bucky had to have had some training, the other man was gonna fight dirty. That was okay; Clint was great at that.

“What would our dear Captain say, knowing we skipped all those stretches I know we’re supposed to do,” Clint asked, but Bucky remained undistracted, keeping a close eye on Clint as he slowly started to circle the mat.

“I dunno. Don’t really care, if I’m bein honest. This is our fight,” Bucky said, before he lunged forward quickly, much quicker than Clint thought he would be capable of. But of course, not quicker than him.

Clint’s instincts took over faster than he thought they would, and he dodged Bucky’s blunt attack, grabbing his arm and taking him down using his momentum. He twisted his arm behind him and pressed a knee into his lower back.

The whole match lasted less than thirty seconds, and Bucky was clearly stunned. For a blinding moment Clint was sure he had used too much strength. Panic tinged on the edge of his mind, but before he could let it go further, Bucky tapped on the mat and Clint let off, standing smoothly. He took in a steadying breath, crossing his arms protectively over his chest. Not rusty, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Bucky rubbed his arm, but instead of scowling, he was grinning, looking a little breathless.

“Best two outta three?” he asked and Clint couldn’t help but smile a little bit. He hadn’t hurt him, he wasn’t some kind of animal. He was in control, he was himself, and he was badass. He had forgotten how good it felt to spar, to fight but know at the end of it he wasn’t fighting for his life, and neither was his partner. He shook out his arms and got into position again.

“You’re on.”

Clint took Bucky to the mat again, and once more after that, and another time for good measure. But Bucky was anything but a quitter, and he kept standing, his eyes bright and intelligent. After a few take downs, Bucky was getting better at reading him, throwing dirty elbows in places Clint almost missed and escaping holds that had previously worked.

They were both building up a sweat, and Clint wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he knew he was grinning brightly. It pulled at his cheeks and it was reflected on Bucky’s face.

“Best thirty-seven outta seventy-four?” Bucky asked as he clasped Clint’s forearm and pulled himself up. Clint threw his head back and laughed before he shrugged and took a step back.

“You sure do like getting your ass handed to you,” Clint said teasingly and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“’Nough talk. Let’s do this,” Bucky said firmly, and Clint grinned.

“Say no more, Sarg.”

Clint felt like he already had most of Bucky’s patterns down just form these few matches, knew what he looked like when he feinted one way or the other or the way he screwed up his nose when he was going for a tackle move, so he was confident that he had this match in the bag.

What he wasn’t expecting was for Bucky to pull out a move he had used to bring it down before. Clint felt a bright sting of surprise as Bucky took his knees out and he let out a huff of breath as his back hit the floor. He was expecting something to flare up, for blue to crowd his vision and to lose himself, but that didn’t happen. He was very aware of himself as Bucky straddled his hips and pinned his wrists to the mat beside his head.

“Gotcha,” Bucky said triumphantly, radiating a smug sense of accomplishment and Clint rolled his eyes.

“For once,” he retorted, but Bucky just grinned, completely unfazed.

“Yeah, but I still did it. You’ve got some moves, Barton,” he said, and Clint grinned.

“Super spy assassin, remember?” Bucky chuckled.

“How could I forget?” he asked, and Clint shrugged.

“I dunno, you are kinda a dumbass,” Clint said, and Bucky scowled playfully.

“Says the one that's under me right now,” Bucky said smugly, and Clint snorted.

“I think you just got lucky. Although, from my position, I’m feeling like the lucky one,” he said, smirking up at him, feeling vindicated when Bucky’s eyes widened a fraction and his ears turned a little red. The silence stretched out for a beat long enough to make it awkward and he tensed. Fuck, what if Bucky really was trying to brush off what had happened before? That was a pretty big gay panic to have after all. Clint had always appreciated his sharp mouth, but he was kinda regretting opening it now.

But then Bucky leaned in closer and grinned slyly.

“’S this what I get for bestin’ you?” he asked lowly, and Clint swallowed, flexing his fingers where they were clenched into fists by his head.

“Well, you know what they say, to the victor goes the spoils, and all that jazz” Clint said, trying not to let on how desperate and nervous he was. He _really_ didn’t wanna screw this up, he was so damn good at screwing things up. Maybe it was because he hadn’t done much in a while, but Clint had a distinct feeling it had more to do with this being Bucky.

Bucky’s lips hitched up in a smile and he leaned down further, brushing his nose against Clint’s almost playfully, and suddenly Clint was relaxing, huffing out a small laugh. God, it was still just Bucky, and Bucky was a dumb ass that still didn’t know how to use the microwave and pretended he wasn’t crying when he finished watching Marley and Me. Why was he worried about looking like a desperate idiot? Bucky was practically trembling above him, and it made him grin fondly.

Clint tilted his chin up to bring their mouths together, and Bucky chuckled against his lips, suddenly smiling a little bit as he relaxed too. And that was all fun and nice and sweet, but it was making it a little bit impossible kiss him. Clint rolled his eyes and bit his lip with irritation.

“Kiss me properly or I’ll throw you off and do it myself, dumbass,” Clint threatened and Bucky laughed, resting his forehead on the mat next to Clint’s head.

“Sorry, sorry, this is just weird I guess. Wasn’t expecting this in the future. I wasn’t expectin’ you,” Bucky said, pulling up to look at him, something Clint couldn’t quite read on his face, and Clint squirmed a little bit under the gaze. Lust, he reminded himself, lust explicitly.

“No one expects me. It’s part of being stealthy,” he said easily, and Bucky rolled his eyes before leaning down and finally kissing him like he deserved to be kissed. He made a pleased noise and Bucky’s lips quirked into a smaller more private smile, but that was nice. Clint like that very much, in fact.

 “Hey Clint, I think we should go over- oh!”

Bucky pulled away slightly and sighed, murmuring a quiet curse and slowly lifting his head to look up at Steve.

Clint tilted his head back and grinned at Steve, who was decked out in his full uniform, looking weary but alert and quite embarrassed. It was a little disorienting to look at him upside down, and Clint felt a little embarrassed being caught by his leader and everything, but Steve’s face was almost worth the discomfort.

“Hey Cap!” he called, wiggling what he could move of his fingers, and Bucky snorted, but didn’t pull away, instead choosing to smirk lazily at Steve.

“Caught me in worse positions,” Bucky said casually, and Steve sputtered, his face turning red. He finally turned away from them a little bit and rubbed a hand down his face. Clint couldn’t help but feel a little sympathy for him, but one glance at Bucky confirmed the little shit didn’t feel anything of the sort. In fact, he looked almost smug. Clint couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that.

“I- this- Clint just- whenever you’re… done, just… conference room meeting. We should go over the mission,” Steve said in a rush, before he turned sharply on his heel and made a speedy exit, the back of his neck clearly bright red.

The sliding glass door closed with a quiet hiss and then it was quiet for a moment. Clint looked at Bucky, and as soon as he caught his eye, Clint couldn’t help but burst into laughter. He felt Bucky shake with mirth as they both broke down, Bucky rolling off of him to lay next to him on the mat.

“His fuckin’ face! God Stevie, always the prude,” Bucky chuckled to himself and Clint grinned, turning his head to look at him.

“That was even better than that one time he got drunk on Asgardian mead and tripped over himself to ask Stark out properly. I’ll have to tell you the full deets after I get outta this meeting,” Clint said, before his face suddenly screwed up. “Aw fuck, does this mean I’m gonna get the third degree from Captain America? This sucks, you aren’t worth the time and lifetime scarring, Barnes,” Clint moaned, and Bucky socked him in the shoulder, still chuckling slightly.

“Shut up and go do your job, slacker,” Bucky said, and Clint considered whining, but he didn’t have it in him. He was just being smothered by a very attractive man, what did he really have to whine about. Maybe he should worry about Cap spilling the beans, but if they were really worried about being sneaky, they wouldn’t’vebeen making out in the training room.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Clint grumbled good naturedly, but pulled himself to his feet all the same. He held out a hand for Bucky, but swiped it back and cackled when the man fell back. That’s what he gets for making Clint be responsible instead of finishing what he started. He dodged the hand that tried to swipe his ankles out from underneath him and darted towards the door.

“I’m gonna kick your ass, Barton!” Bucky shouted, and Clint threw a grin over his shoulders.

“Promises, promises!” he returned. He quickly booked it before Bucky could get his feet under himself and give chase, a grin on his face.

As he walked into the conference room, Steve and Natasha fell silent. Steve in particular made a pinched face, his cheeks turning red, which caused Nat to raise an amused eyebrow and side eye Clint curiously. Steve watched him with embarrassment for a moment more, before he took a deep breath. His face grew firm and he gestured to the chair next to Nat.

“We’re just waiting for Tony. He’ll show you what you’ll be looking for,” he said, and not even a moment later, Tony was swanning in, clearly freshly showered and holding a cup of coffee and a tablet. He wrinkled his nose at Steve.

“You should’ve joined me, you look awful,” Tony said as he took a seat next to him, and Steve sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair.

“Thanks,” Steve said dryly, before he put his elbows on the table as Tony handed his tablet over to Natasha. Nat leaned back so Clint could look over her shoulder at the building schematics with his eyebrow raised.

It only took a little bit for Natasha and Steve to work out the best plan of infiltration, and Clint couldn’t help but feel a little proud of Nat for it, even though he knew very well how good she was at this. It seemed like the mission was supposed to be pretty in and out, child’s play for him and Nat. Or it would be, if Clint wasn’t so nervous about it.

“Cap really didn’t want you flying empty-handed Barton, so I fixed these up for you,” Tony said as soon as Natasha and Steve had agreed on a plan of attack. Tony slid a set of bracelets across the table at him.

“Stingers like Agent Romanoff has. I figured you’d still know how to aim, and I’m sure Nat can teach you how to use them before you have to go,” Tony said as he kicked his feet up onto the conference table. Steve cleared his throat pointedly and glared at Tony’s shoes, but the other man ignored it, throwing his arms behind his head and grinning.

Clint held the bracelets in his hand, tilting them this way and that, before he nudged Nat. “Super spy assassin twins,” he said, and Nat rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifted up in amusement.

Steve gave up on Tony’s feet and turned to the two of them again. “You go out at the end of the week. It should be enough time to go over the plan again and learn how to use those stingers, Clint,” Steve said firmly. Natasha nodded once, and Clint grinned at Steve in response.

Steve sighed a little bit, but smiled all the same. Nat took that as a dismissal and stood immediately, grabbing Clint’s wrists.

“Stinger practice. Now,” she said and Clint scooped up his bracelets and headed to the door just as Tony said, “Well now I have to take a second shower because you didn’t join me the first time. I hope you’re happy.”

Clint let himself be led back to the training room, mildly thankful that Bucky had left in the time he was meeting with Steve, because he knew exactly what Natasha was thinking about. Her expression was carefully neutral, but Clint could read the interest and mirth hidden in her eyes.

“Put the bracelets on,” Natasha directed shortly, and Clint snapped them on with ease having watched Nat do it so many times.

“Aim it, fire with the palm button,” she said. Clint pointed his arms at the far wall, feeling beyond silly. Natasha managed to pull this off, but he knew he looked like an idiot, and Bucky would be laughing his ass off if he saw him right now.

All the same, he did as she instructed, only a little surprised by the kick back. They packed more of a punch then Natasha ever let on, not that Natasha ever let on anything.

“Again.”

As much as Clint was entertained by working out the kinks in the stingers, he found himself tensing the longer that time stretched on. He knew distantly that she was waiting him out, wanting him to bring it up first, but he really kind of didn’t want to. This thing was so new, he wasn’t even sure what he would have to say about it at this point. Fuck, they had barely talked about it, and Clint really didn’t want to talk about it, because it was going to involve feelings, as much as he really didn’t want it to, and he hadn’t been thinking about those since he knew how to ignore them.

After half an hour of shooting at targets with the Stingers, Clint stopped and took the bracelets off. Jesus Christ, she was going to work him into the ground just trying to outlast him, and he knew exactly who was more patient, much to his annoyance.

No, he wasn’t getting out of it, but he’d be damned if he gave too much, if only to spite her. Clint wasn’t above being ridiculously petty, especially when Natasha outplayed him. Which she did. Often.

“Yes,” he said shortly, and Nat raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling up slowly on her lips. Clint groaned out a little bit, bringing a hand to his face.

“Yes?” she asked slowly, and Clint rolled his eyes.

“I’m not saying it again,” he said, almost grumpily, and Natasha’s expression would’ve been smug if she was capable of it. They stood quietly next to each other, Natasha’s face unreadable for a moment, before she shifted her stance.

“You sure about it?” she asked neutrally. Clint sighed and rubbed his hands through his hair. Straight for the jugular, as usual.

“No. But when have I been sure about anything?” he asked, and Natasha shrugged one shoulder, completely free of judgement. And that was why Clint didn’t run screaming every time she managed to sneak up on him. She pulled Clint’s face to her and kissed his forehead.

“Be careful. We need you,” Nat said, and Clint grinned.

“I always am,” Clint replied, and Natasha lifted one eyebrow, before the corner of her lip twitched and she nodded her head towards the door.

“Go then. I know you want to,” she said and Clint grinned, twirling one of the stingers around his finger.

“Know nothing will replace you in my heart Nat. Not just anyone’s friendship can survive Budapest,” he said, holding his hands to his chest, and finally Nat let out a sharp bark of laughter, before she shook her head.

“Don’t. Go,” she said almost fondly, and Clint grinned in response, before he gave her a two-fingered salute and went off to find Bucky. He had three days before his operation, and he wanted nothing more than to not think about it.

When he stepped on his floor, Bucky was laying on the couch with Lucky on top of his chest, watching reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer with rapt attention. He tilted his head up a little when Clint kicked off his shoes, before lifting his legs so he could sit down. Lucky squirmed around to lick at Clint and he laughed, shoving the dog’s face away from him.

“Everythin’ alright?” Bucky asked as soon as Lucky settled again. Clint felt his throat tighten a little bit at the casual intimacy that Bucky offered, had always offered even before _that_ had happened. He placed a steadying hand on Bucky’s ankle and sighed with exhaustion, tiredly smiling over at him.

“Everything’s just fine.”

***

Being back in his stealth uniform felt a little strange, but comforting. He liked what he did, he knew that, but he had almost forgotten how it felt. Next to him, Natasha’s brilliant red hair was fluttering aggressively in the wind. They both looked up at the warehouse, and Clint let out a low whistle.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been inside a vent that wasn’t in the tower,” Clint said with a grin, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

“Focus,” she said, before she slunk towards the building, slipping easily into the shadows. Clint thought about quipping back at her, but it was his first time back in the field since New York, so perhaps she had a point.

Clint had been nervous up until he had to leave. Bucky, being a true bro, knew exactly when to leave him be, for some damn reason. He had snapped at him once, when he had snuck up on him when he didn’t have his aids in, but Bucky had taken it all in stride, passing a bottle of water into his hands and some stupid healthy granola bar Tony hoarded before quietly leaving. Clint knew he had to apologize when he got back, but he’d groveled for less.

And it turned out all the worrying was for nothing anyways. As soon as his boots hit the ground outside of the warehouse, it was almost like muscle memory took over. He was thrumming with adrenaline, and it was exhilarating feeling as he pulled himself up beside Nat into one of the air ducts on the side of the building.

They crawled slowly forward, Natasha in the front, up until the vent split. They knew how many rooms there were, but none of the rooms had been marked, so it was a toss-up at this point.

“Dibs on the right,” Clint whispered, and Natasha, ever the professional, just took off down the left split without speaking.

Clint crawled off to the right, checking to make sure his com was on. He kept his movements quiet, ears straining to hear what was going on in the rooms below him as he passed by vent after vent. Most of the rooms he passed were filled with computer terminals, and he was starting to get a little antsy. Tony never said for sure that there would be paper copies here, but he had sounded confident, and Clint really needed this mission to go okay if just to prove he could do it. There was still radio silence from Nat’s end, so he figured she hadn’t gotten anywhere either.

Clint passed a few more rooms before he paused, peering down into a room below him. There were a few filing cabinets that were pressed up against the walls. He felt both a surge of relief at the sight, even though there was a chance nothing important was in there. He pressed his fingers to his ear.

“Widow, I’ve got a room I wanna check out. Any luck on your end?” he asked quietly.

“Negative,” Nat replied quietly, her voice a crackle in Clint’s ear. “I’m almost to the control room. I’ll see if I can take care of any cameras,” she said and Clint hummed a little in response. He tried to scope out the room a little before he heard Natasha’s all clear.

“Five minutes before someone notices the camera’s out,” Natasha warned and Clint grunted in reply.

 Clint eased the vents back and dropped to the floor in a crouch. He looked around carefully, noting the layers of dust on the cabinets, standing slowly and casting his eye around for quick exits. Noting none, he started towards the cabinets. He had to be quick but through. Shit fuck there was a ton of papers.

“Big time travel schematics, where are you,” he murmured as he began to leaf through the old documents. He quickly picked up on the filing system, searching through the forties with deft fingers and hands.

“Hawkeye, you have an eye on those papers yet?” Nat asked, her voice neutral, but Clint could pick up a hint of tension.

“Gimme one more sec,” Clint muttered, trying to pick up the pace while still scanning every document closely.

His eyes landed on the plans for the rocket launcher looking time thingy and he pumped his fist. He pressed his ear to his com to inform Natasha that he had secured the plans, when Nat suddenly said, “You’ve got incoming company, Hawkeye,” with urgency in her voice.

Clint immediately looked towards the vents, before he discarded the idea at the sound of fast approaching footsteps. He slid the drawer closed carefully before wiggling between the wall and the cabinet. It was humiliating to hide, but they were supposed to be stealthy, and he could be stealthy if he really tried.

He half expected the Hydra agents to bust in with guns blazing, but instead they came in rather calmly and walked towards the filing cabinet he had just finished raiding. His hands clenched around the schematics in his hand as they opened the file cabinet. He heard them leaf through the files slowly at first, but then more frantically, before they slammed the cabinet shut and turned on their heel.

“Es ist weg! Klingen Sie der Alarm!“

Clint grimaced as the door shut with a clang and immediately sirens went off somewhere overhead.

Aw futz.

“Good news, got the thingy. Bad news-” Clint began as he squirmed out of his hiding spot. He knew they would’ve already blocked off the vents, so through the Hydra base it was.

“In and out, they said. It’ll be simple, they said,” Clint muttered to himself as he rolled up the plans in his hands to get a better hold on them. Why in the hell was Hydra even after these ancient plans? Hadn’t they already done everything they were supposed to do with them? Something felt off, but he didn’t have time to think about it.

Gripping the schematics tightly, he slipped out of the door and winced as the alarm grew louder, his hearing aids practically shaking in his ears.

“I hear ya, I hear ya, damn,” Clint complained to himself as he pressed his back against the wall.

“Widow, I’m heading for the exits, it might be a good idea-“ he began, before he cursed as he slipped around the corner and watched as a patrol of three came around the corner across the hall. Their guns went up immediately and Clint ran every curse he could think about through his head.

“Halt!” one shouted, but Clint was already moving, holding his arms out – god, it still felt so stupid - and aiming the stingers at the two on the sides. He ran forward, awkwardly sliding on his knees to avoid a most likely direct headshot and surging upwards and clicking the middle shouting man’s mouth shut with a vicious blow to his jaw.

He let out a breath as the man fell, looking at the stingers with appreciation. He nudged one of the groaning men with his foot.

“Oh, I’m keeping these” he said with an grin, before he started on his way again. He tried for a little more discretion this time, double checking corners, until he saw his way out. There was a hanger door opening up to let out whole vans full of Hydra agents. Clint had no idea why they were evacuating over a piece of missing paper, but that was low on his lists of priorities. Even with the evacuation, there were a ton of agent’s milling around. Fuck, but he had no clue how he was supposed to sneak by there, if he had had a grappling arrow, he probably could’ve-

Suddenly, the floor beneath his feet shuddered dangerously. Clint swayed where he was standing, unable to piece together what the hell was going on before he was knocked off his feet as the wall next to him exploded outward, throwing him into the open hanger. He managed to keep his hand gripping the plans, but his head was pounding, and one of his aids was whining in his ear. He scrabbled at his ear, yanking it out and huffing, struggling to his knees. He froze when he felt something cool press against his forehead.

He cast his eyes up slowly, grimacing as he looked up into the eyes of a Hydra soldier. The soldier was bleeding from a cut on his head and his eyes were gleaming as he clicked the safety off. Clint squinted his eyes, already thinking out a path to knock the gun out of his hands as soon as he was distracted-

But before he could act, there was a black and red blur and suddenly the gun was gone, and Clint gasped, wincing as his ribs protested.

“Man, I can’t believe you didn’t let me punch that guy,” Clint wheezed, but Natasha didn’t look amused.

“Up, Hawkeye. They’re going to blow this whole place up just to make sure we don’t get out with the plans,” Natasha said, hauling him up by the elbow. He stumbled a little but got his feet under him, trying to shake the fog in his head caused by the blast. Damn it, he was probably concussed.

He pushed his legs as fast as they could take him, following Nat’s brilliant red hair as a beacon as the vaulted over falling debris and unconscious soldiers. It was all a blur of adrenaline, and Clint couldn’t help but distantly note that he was gonna be sore as hell tomorrow.

Their feet hit grass, and they kept running, running until a final explosion rocked the ground and Clint barely managed to keep his footing. His equilibrium was shit without his one ear, but he was used to it, steadying himself while Natasha reached up to her ear, turning and calling for evac.

Clint continued to watch the smoke from the burning building rise into the air, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the papers in his hands. Natasha came up to his side and he looked over at her with a grin.

“Super spy assassin twins strike again,” Clint intoned, waving his stinger clad forearm in her face. Natasha snorted and shoved his arm away before she smiled a little.

“It’s good to have you back,” she said softly, and Clint wanted to point out that he wasn’t technically back, but he caught the words before they leave and shrugged his one shoulder.

“Yeah. I guess it is kinda nice.”

***

Debriefing was as boring as Clint remembered it being. But, it was nice that Steve seemed proud of him, and he conveniently ignored how he puffed up a little at the praise.

“You did good, Hawkeye,” Steve said, and Clint grinned, before he continued with, “Widow can vouch for your ability to perform in the field, but that still doesn’t get you out of the evaluation at S.H.I.E.L.D.” He sounded almost apologetic, as if maybe he disagreed slightly with the protocol, but Clint just nodded his head. He had enjoyed the mission, the rush, and the satisfaction of doing a good job and working with Nat. He had kept his head, didn’t freeze or turned into some mindless killing machine under pressure. The only issue was his bow. It didn’t feel right getting cleared for the field if he couldn’t even stand to touch it around others. Maybe as soon as he could do that, he’d suck it up and go to S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint tried to pretend that wasn’t an excuse to continue to ignore what had happened.

“Fury pissed?” Clint asked instead of commenting, and Steve huffed a little bit, rolling his shoulders back.

“I’ll handle the Commander. I promise nothing will come back on you. This was my call,” Steve said, looking serious, before he eased up and smiled at him. “You should go wash up, and maybe stop by the Medical wing. You look a little banged up,” Steve said and Clint shrugged. He was used to doing most of his own first aid, as long as it wasn’t too serious. He was used to that when he was growing up, it was grounding sometimes. Luckily, Stark saved him from giving an actual answer as he finally started chattering, his eyes still roving over the plans.

“This is… incredibly simple yet unnecessarily complex. I feel like I should make changes. Then again, what if I have to recreate it exactly for the best results? No, that’s stupid, I’m Tony Stark, I can fix up this old junker. It’s going to take a while; we don’t want Barnes to end up a splatter on the wall,” Tony said, before he rolled up the plans and stuck them under his arm. “I’ve gotta start now. JARVIS, get the workshop ready for me-“

Tony continued to chatter as he left, and Clint arched an eyebrow at Steve, who watched him with a fond yet exasperated expression. He looked back at Clint, as if he suddenly remembered he was there. He flushed a little bit and rubbed the back of his neck.

“It wasn’t going to be a good night for sleep anyways. Good job again, Clint,” Steve said as he patted Clint on the shoulder, before he followed Tony out of the room, asking quietly “JARVIS, is my sketchpad still in Tony’s workshop?”

Clint huffed out, feeling all his aches and pains catching up to him the longer he stayed standing. A nice shower sounded like the perfect cure for that, so he trudged his way up to his floor, a little thrown off by the absence of noise in his right ear. Fuck, he had forgotten to tell Tony. Whatever, it wasn’t like he needed it to sleep anyways.

He stumbled onto his floor and into his bathroom, barely kicking off his clothes before he was stepping into warm water. He let out an obscene noise, sighing as the warm water beat against his back. He scrubbed the dirt and the blood off his body, only wincing a little as the warm water stung the marks left from the explosion. Clint bowed his head and let the water run until he found himself dozing off a little. He shut off the shower, grabbing a towel and running it through his hair before wrapping it around his hips.

He walked out of his bathroom, yawning as he grabbed a pair of boxers from his drawer, before he suddenly froze up, boxers still in hand. He peered closer at the bed, his body on high alert. That was definitely lump there that shouldn’t be there next to Lucky.

He was blindly reaching for the stingers he discarded when the lump let out a heavy snore, and Clint immediately relaxed, before his face broke out in a grin. Careful not to jostle his ribs, Clint slipped his boxers on and let his towel drop to the floor, before he crawled around to the side Bucky was sleeping on. His face was smooshed against the pillow, his hair splayed out against the pillow case as he drooled lightly. Clint couldn’t help but snort affectionately, before he reached out and shook him gently.

Bucky woke up immediately, sitting up and knocking their heads together. Clint reeled back, gripping his head that was already screaming from getting blown to hell by some suicide mission Hydra went on. Bucky groaned, rubbing his eyes, before he stiffened up in shock.

“I- Clint- This- I thought you were on a mission,” Bucky said lamely, and Clint grinned even as he rubbed his forehead.

“Just got back. And to such a nice surprise, no less,” Clint teased gently, and he knew if there was just a little bit more light, he’d see Bucky flushing.

“Awh lay off, ‘kay? I just wanted to sleep with my dog, since you’re always hogging him,” Bucky said gruffly, clearly embarrassed at being caught, before he tensed up again, reaching for Clint’s face. Clint leaned closer without really thinking about it.

Bucky whistled lowly, his hand coming up to lightly brush just to the side of the cut on his head. “Tell me the other fella looks worse,” Bucky said softly and Clint grinned.

“Natch. It probably had something to do with that those sparring lesson,” Clint said, and Bucky barked out a laugh, before his hands fell to his wrists and he pulled Clint closer. Clint went willingly, until his thighs were pressed against the bed.

Bucky leaned his head forward and pressed it against Clint’s stomach, making him shudder slightly, before he brought his hand up to card his hand through Bucky’s hair. Like a damn puppy dog honestly.

“I can’t believe you missed me. I’ve been gone twenty-four hours,” Clint murmured, and Bucky huffed, embarrassed, but he didn’t refute it.

“Do ya mind me bein’ here?” Bucky asked, his voice distorted by the way his face was mushed against his torso and Clint shook his head, squeezing the back of his neck fondly.

“Nah. I don’t mind. Lucky’s too used to sleeping with someone on the bed now. I am, however, going to tease for the rest of your life about it,” Clint said with a grin, and Bucky grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah yeah, I have to give you somethin’ to work with since you’re constantly embarrassin’ yourself,” Bucky shot back, and Clint pinched his ear in retaliation. Bucky swatted his hand away with irritation, before he sighed a little bit.

Clint watched him for a moment, before he rubbed the back of his neck. This was a super shitty idea, but Bucky looked so comfortable in his bed, and if he was being honest, Clint had missed him too. Just a little.  

“If you want,” Clint started carefully, “you don’t have to leave.” Bucky finally pulled away at that, looking up at him skeptically. Clint held up his hands immediately.

“To sleep only. Scouts honor,” Clint said, and Bucky eyed him warily for a moment, before he shifted over, causing Lucky to stand and walk to the edge of the bed, laying down with a deep sigh.

Clint immediately slid into the warm spot Bucky vacated and let out a content sigh. Awh yeah, Stark bought the best beds. He felt Bucky shift next to him, before he felt a rough hand hesitantly settle on his side.

“Can I hold ya?” Bucky asked quietly, and Clint grinned in the darkness, before squirming back a little bit.

“Yeah, just, careful on the ribs,” he said, before grunting as Bucky immediately engulfed him in his arms, his broad chest blanketing Clint’s back perfectly. Clint felt himself relaxing instantly. He was sure it would feel weirder to share a bed with someone; it had been a while, after all, but it wasn’t that strange. In fact, it was kinda nice, not that he would ever say it aloud, lest Bucky never let him live it down. He found himself chuckling a little bit.

“Never pegged you for a snuggler, Barnes” Clint teased, and Bucky growled.

“You complainin’?” he demanded and Clint laughed, shaking his head.

“No, I’ll have you know I’m very secure in my masculinity,” Clint said, and Bucky snorted before falling silent. Clint reached up to take out his working hearing aid, before Bucky brought up a hand to stop him.

“Kinda gotta take these out to sleep, Buck,” Clint said with a grin, but Bucky didn’t pull away, instead running his hand down Clint’s arm soothingly.

“We gotta talk about this,” Bucky said quietly, and Clint tensed in his arms, ready to turn and face him, but Bucky tightened his arms fractionally around him, and Clint stilled.

“Not now. I didn’t want to pester ya with the mission comin’ up but… soon. Okay? Sleep,” Bucky said softly. Clint felt his stomach and chest lurch uncomfortably, before he sighed out, reaching and up and removing his hearing aid, placing it on the end table.

Clint wanted to worry about the feelings talk. He had been dreading it since it happened, and Clint had half a mind to just slip away in the morning. Clint was cowardly enough to do it, he had run before, but he thought about Bucky sleeping in his bed, probably outta worry, even if he would never say it, and Clint knew he couldn’t do it, just for that. He sighed, rubbing his face, before he forced himself to relax completely back against Bucky’s chest.

It wasn’t his problem right now; that was definitely morning Clint’s problem.

***

Bucky’s wake-up call was a foot to the stomach.

He let out a wheeze of surprise, rolling instinctively to the side and landing with a thump on the floor. He kicked out at the blankets that were binding his legs, grunting when there was no give. For a blinding moment he was back in combat, with soil filling his mouth as he hit the ground, blood pooling in front of him from a place he couldn’t identify-

But then he felt a warm slickness on his face and he blinked his eyes that he didn’t even know were shut open to look at Lucky, who was wagging his tail enthusiastically and licking at Bucky’s face. Bucky sat up with a groan of confusion, gently pushing Lucky to the side and cracking his neck. He finally peeked his head over the side of the bed and squinted, preparing to rip into Clint for being an asshole, before he cut himself short.

Clint was no longer thrashing, but he was straining, his fists clenched and his chest arching up. Bucky could barely make out the sweat dotting his temples in the faint glow of clock on Clint’s bed side. He wasn’t speaking, or shouting, but he didn’t need to be. Bucky had seen this kind of thing before in the men he commanded and in himself, if he were to be completely honest. But Clint had been through things Bucky couldn’t even fathom, and he had a feeling he didn’t even really know the half of what actually happened…

He really didn’t want Clint to keep dreaming.

Bucky crawled back onto the bed, hesitantly reaching out a hand and jostling Clint’s ankle from a safe distance away. The reaction was instantaneous. The man gasped out, his eyes shooting open as his hand flew to his chest. Bucky tightened his grip slightly on his ankle, attempting to ground him. He heard Lucky pad over to the other side of the bed, and he watched as the dog put its front paws on the bed and nudged Clint’s hand with his cold nose.

Clint’s hand immediately rose to pet Lucky’s snout, and even though he was still breathing hard, the wild, confused, _terrified_ look in his eyes was fading into something more unsettled than fearful.

It took a few minutes of touching Lucky’s fur for Clint to really see him in the dark, and as soon as he did he groaned and covered his face with his free hand.

“Oh good. Let’s not talk about this. Ever,” Clint said through his hand. Bucky frowned a little, watching as Clint scrambled for his hearing aid, before he shrugged.

“Okay,” he said quietly as soon as the man got it in, and Clint turned to look at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Clint’s eyes bore into his in the dim light, almost like a challenge, before his lips quirked up and his eyes softened.

“Why are you so far away anyways? Didn’t you go all octopus on me last night?” Clint asked with a smirk, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Well, if someone hadn’t shoved their foot in my gut maybe I woulda been closer,” Bucky retorted. Clint’s face darkened a little and Bucky felt like maybe he deserved another kick for that.

“Damn it, how hard did I kick you? You’re okay, right?” Clint asked, trying to sit up, before he hissed and clutched his side. Bucky immediately crawled closer, his hands hovering over Clint’s torso, the slip up forgotten.

“I’m fine, but you on the other hand,” Bucky started, and Clint waved him off.

“They’re just bruised. I would’ve wrapped them if I thought it was worse,” Clint said, before he propped himself up on the headboard. He closed his eyes and breathed slowly, and Bucky couldn’t help but watch and openly appreciate what he was now allowed to look at. Even with bruises making his face puffy, Clint was incredibly handsome. The gentle red glow of the alarm clock cast shadows across his muscular arms, and Bucky was hit with the desire to touch. He reached forward and tentatively brushed his hand over where Clint’s was laying on the sheets as if to reaffirm they were both really sitting here in Clint’s bed after sleeping next to one another.

Clint’s eyes fluttered open and he looked down at where they were touching, before up again with a grin. Bucky tensed up a little, unsure if the advance wasn’t wanted or it wasn’t something fellas did in the 21st century, but Clint simply turned his hand up and allowed their fingers to curl together.

“You’re all kinds of touchy, Barnes. Not that I’m complaining, just ah, not used to it, I guess,” Clint said, and although he was grinning, there was a hint of embarrassment there as well as he looked down at their joined hands.

They fell silent, not quite looking at each other. Bucky felt Clint gently draw his thumb across his knuckles and he hummed in appreciation.

“Can… we talk now?” Bucky asked, almost awkwardly, and Clint flashed him a smile that held just a little too much teeth, before he rubbed his free hand on his thigh and looked away.

“What is there to talk about?” Clint asked flippantly. Bucky cocked his head to the side a little and chuckled before he squeezed Clint’s hand pointedly.

“Uh, I dunno about you, but I don’t hold hands and kiss just any fella,” Bucky said, almost jokingly, but the smile Clint gave him was still a little tense, almost fake, and Bucky narrowed his eyes a little bit.

“I didn’t think you did stuff with ‘fellas’ anyways,” Clint said, and Bucky opened his mouth to ask how that was relevant when Clint spoke up quickly. “Look, I know an experiment when I see one. Been there done that. This kinda stuff was taboo where you’re from, but here you can try it out and I’m down. What’s a couple of hand jobs between bros, right?”

Bucky stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. Clint wasn’t even looking at him anymore, his attention focused solely on picking at the blanket on his thighs. Bucky blinked at him, before he closed his mouth and frowned hard. “What are you talking about?” Bucky asked sharply, whatever warm satisfaction he was feeling from getting to touch Clint freely dissipating some. Clint just shrugged.

“It’s a brave new world, of course you’d wanna try guys out with someone you know, but isn’t family, like Steve or something. And I’m down; you’re hot and pretty okay so,” Clint said keeping his gaze firmly away from Bucky’s face. Bucky had no idea where this was coming from, but the last goddamn thing Bucky wanted was to have forced Clint into something he never wanted in the first place. Bucky furrowed his eyebrows with concern and confusion.

“Clint- what the hell, this isn’t ‘cause you’re a guy,” Bucky said, screwing his face up, and Clint finally started to frown a little bit, even if he was still engaged in a staring contest with his legs. “It’s ‘cause I like you, and yeah, maybe I think you’re easy on the eyes, but that’s not… that’s not the point,” Bucky said feeling the back of his neck heat a little bit at the honesty.

“If you aren’t… I thought maybe… fuck,” Bucky said when Clint was silent after his admission. He was such an idiot, now he’d gone and ruined one of his only source of company while he was stuck here. He felt Clint shift next to him and he scrunched his shoulders in a little bit. He really didn’t want pity; he wasn’t a baby. He felt a hand on his neck and he almost flinched at it.

“What the hell are _you_ talking about?” Clint asked, his voice a touch sharp with confusion and Bucky felt irritation and a sting of hurt tighten in his stomach. What the hell was Clint trying to prove by makin’ him say it again. He was an asshole, but Bucky never thought he was that much of an asshole.

“I… I’m not tryin’ to… to mess around here, Clint, but it’s kinda comin’ clear to me that perhaps that wasn’t what you were signing up for,” Bucky said, scrubbing a heavy hand down his face. This was turnin’ out to be one of the most mortifying experiences in his life, and he had had Sarah Rogers get an eyeful of his naked ass once. He just hoped Clint would laugh it off and avoid it and they’d never have to talk about it again.

Clint was unsettlingly quiet next to him, but he didn’t pull his hand from Bucky’s. Bucky sighed a little bit and made a move to get away, maybe go hide an lick his wounds in private, but Clint gripped his hand tighter, to a point where it almost hurt, and Bucky finally looked him in the face.

Clint looked a little lost, and as soon as Bucky made eye contact, he swallowed hard. Bucky refused to look away, almost defiant in the way he held Clint’s gaze. He braced himself when Clint took a huge breath.

“Wow. Okay, I really wasn’t expecting that,” Clint said, his voice both mildly awed and confused. Bucky chewed his cheek, growing more uncomfortable as Clint continued to watch him for a beat. He tried to pull away once more, this time a little more insistently, but Clint stopped him again. Bucky found he couldn’t help but sit still, much to his annoyance. “Not that that’s a bad thing it’s just… you really know how to keep me on my toes,” Clint rushed to say as soon as Bucky started to pull away again, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile a little bit at that, even if he was still feeling a bite of embarrassment at how awful this was going.

“It’s usually Natasha, but since I’ve been stuck here in the tower, it’s you. It’s always you,” Clint continued, his voice growing softer at the end. Bucky stared at him, unsure what Clint was trying to say as he stared at their joined hands. He watched as Clint flipped Bucky’s hand over in his and traced a burn scar on the side of Bucky’s thumb that he had gotten from touching the stove when he was younger. The gesture was more intimate than anything Clint could’ve said or done, and he felt his lips tick up a little against his will.

“God this is such a shit idea,” Clint said suddenly. “You and me,” he clarified at Bucky’s raised eyebrow, before he sighed.  “You’ve have to leave and I’m nowhere near stable enough to do this,” Clint said, running a free hand through his hair. Bucky watched him, tracking the way Clint nervously rubbed the back of his neck. Bucky shrugged one shoulder in what he hoped was nonchalance and ease instead of embarrassingly desperate hope.

“I dunno a whole lot about what’s gonna happen with me, or how soon, and I also don’t have a clue how you must be feeling about any of what I’ve said, but I do know that I’m… I’m kinda sweet on you, and I don’t wanna miss out on you just because I’m leaving,” Bucky said quietly, but firmly, emboldened by the fact that Clint wasn’t trying to run from him. Clint looked over at him with eyes wide at his words, before he shook his head slowly in disbelief.

“Oh god, we’re really going to do this, aren’t we,” Clint said, almost as if he really couldn't believe it, and Bucky frowned a little bit. This was what he was hoping he could avoid.

“You don’t have to. You don’t owe me anything,” Bucky said, the words sticking in his throat unpleasantly. Clint didn't even hesitate to flap an impatient hand at Bucky, his posture a lot more relaxed than it had been a moment ago.

“No, I know I don’t, but it’s not every day a hot soldier falls through a time portal and into my arms,” Clint said teasingly, laughing when Bucky punched him lightly in the leg, careful of his potential injuries. Bucky was more than relieved at the sound of Clint’s laughter, unable to stop an amused grin from pulling at his lips. Clint’s own smile grew more private and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Besides. You’re pretty alright. I could do worse,” he said, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Thanks,” he said dryly, and Clint laughed.

“Anytime, Sarg.” he said with a cheeky grin, and Bucky snorted before he scratched his cheek absentmindedly. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the way the conversation had moved from rejection to this. Clint could wrap him up in more knots than anyone else he met, the giant ass.

“So… we _are_ doin’ this?” Bucky asked once more for clarification, and Clint rolled his eyes even as he grinned.

“If by this you mean making out and sleeping together and maybe letting you do some low key wooing because I just know you’re going to be that kind of gentlemanly 40s guy, then yeah, I guess we are,” Clint said, flashing him a lopsided if mildly embarrassed grin. Bucky couldn’t help but mirror the expression, something like relief and delight making his head spin pleasantly. He instinctively leaned in, pleased when Clint met him halfway.

It was a chaste kiss, more of a hello or perhaps an end to their conversation, but it was sweet despite the morning breath, and Bucky found he wouldn’t trade it for anything else. It only lasted a brief second before Clint was pulling back.

“I’m shit at the feelings thing, but I uh, care about you too. Ya know, in case you weren’t sure,” Clint said, casting his eyes away and Bucky couldn’t help but grin a little bit at his mildly uncomfortable embarrassment.

“Wow, I’m swooning over here. It must be all that brilliant Barton charm I’ve heard so much about, but have yet to see,” Bucky said dryly, chuckling when Clint flipped him off. He carefully burrowed under his covers, pulling them up almost over his head in a petulant way that would be irritating if Bucky wasn’t so blindingly happy.

“Fuck you, Barnes,” Clint growled, but he still hadn’t let go of Bucky’s hand much to his delight. Bucky took it as an invitation to bring their joined hand to his lips to kiss across Clint’s bruised knuckles. Clint’s scruffy blond hair poked out, and his eyes glared at Bucky. Bucky grinned against his hand.

“Lucky for you, I’ve got all kinds of charm, doll,” Bucky said with a teasing grin, “Maybe I’ll even consider sharin’ some with you.”

Clint sputtered, pushing the covers away to uncover his face fully to display his mockingly outraged expression. “Doll? What kind of- I ain’t one of your 40’s chicks,” he retorted, his voice holding only a little offense. It made Bucky laugh and leaning forward to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Bucky murmured. Clint made an interesting strangled sound and Bucky couldn’t help but chuckle as he leaned back. Clint was staring at him with a pleasantly confused expression that held enough heat to make Bucky shudder, but he pulled away all the same, wary of Clint’s injuries. He gently touched a bruise blooming on the side of his face, his face twisting up some.

“Did you get any of this checked?” he asked, and Clint shrugged, which Bucky took as a resounding no. He eyed him and Clint shoved his face away, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Don’t start with that, oh my god, you’re going to be even more unbearable now aren’t you,”

Clint moaned, but the corner of his mouth was quirked up in a smile, and Bucky grinned.

“And yet here you are. Bearing me,” he drawled, and Clint glared at him over his shoulder before he stood, stretching his arms out and wincing a little bit, his hand touching his side lightly. Bucky forced himself not to say anything, instead watching as Clint scratched his head as he whistled for Lucky.

“Time to shit, Lucky. You coming Barnes?” Clint asked, and Bucky chose not to mention that it was only three in the morning, and instead rolled off of the bed and to his feet.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

***

Clint flipped his arrow in his hand, admiring the way the head glinted in the bright light of the target range. He notched it into place, reveling in the way that the muscles in his back flexed pleasantly as he pulled the string back. He breathed in steadily, and released the arrow on the exhale. The thud it made when it hit the center of the target filled him with smug satisfaction and he lowered his bow, running his hands along the curve of it.

It was relaxing, coming to shoot his bow by himself. It quieted whatever he might be thinking about until he could only concentrate on breathing and the burn in his shoulders as he shot arrow after arrow. He had needed this, and not for any other reason than to ground himself after the whirlwind the last month had been.

Being with Bucky was almost overwhelming. Not that a whole lot had changed, but the things that had held so much weight, Clint often felt like he was drowning. Like when he’d wake up to Bucky watching him through sleepy eyes, a tiny affectionate smile curling up on his face when he noticed Clint was awake. He never tried to speak to him, and Clint revealed in the feeling of having his ears free from his aids for as long as he wanted, Bucky completely and totally content to just lay there.

It was like anything Clint did satisfied and amazed him. He laughed when Clint attempted to lick pizza sauce off of his elbow and puts up with Clint’s pop culture commentary through any film they happen to be watching as if there was genuinely no where else he’d rather be. It was both baffling and ridiculous. It was one thing when Bucky was just a pal who hung around for shits and giggles, but it was something new now that he knew Bucky was hanging around because he actually liked him. Bucky knew what kind of hot mess he was what with all the many times he had to calm him down in the middle of the night, and yet he was still caught off guard by how many things inspire Bucky to reach out to kiss him or simply look at him with a sort of dazed amazement.

When he had asked the other man about it once, Bucky had just chuckled.

“You’re my best guy. I’m allowed to look at you, or is that another 21st century custom I don’t know about,” he had quipped, and Clint had tilted his head back to hide his mild embarrassment.

“Looking is so boring though,” Clint had replied, and Bucky grinned at him cheekily, leaning in as he rubbed a thumb along his jaw, murmuring,

“I can take a hint, you unsubtle asshole,” and then proceeded to blow his mind. Again.

He had been so sure whatever talk Bucky wanted to have was going to be about putting up boundaries about feelings, not about the potential for _commitment_ even if Bucky never said the word. It was so out of the realm of possibilities that he had cooked up, he almost wasn’t sure what to do with himself at the time. This thing they had, it was domestic and strange, but good, something Clint had never really experienced before. It was for people who weren’t ex-criminals or spies or super heros, but here he was having something that he didn’t really think was meant for people like him.

He picked up another arrow, attempting to push Bucky and the distracting thrill he got from those thoughts out of his mind again by drawing his bow back and shooting, grinning as the arrow struck the far target perfect. He was reaching for another arrow when he heard the doors to the range hiss open and he froze, dropping the arrow and turning on his heel.

He tensed up as Bucky entered the room, looking relaxed and content in his sweats and T-shirt that proudly proclaimed _Brooklyn Girl_ on the front. Despite the tension in his shoulders, he couldn’t help but snort; he was always sure Bucky would back out whenever he bought him these stupid ass shirts but he never did, the dumb asshole.

“JARVIS told me you’d be here. Mind if I stay and watch?” Bucky asked. “I’ll stay over here and keep my trap shut,” he continued as he leaned against the back wall and crossed his arms across his chest. Clint flexed his fingers around his bow, his heart thudding uncomfortably in his chest.

“Any particular reason why you wanna watch?” Clint asked, his voice just a little too tense to be playful, but if Bucky picked up on it, he didn’t comment.

“I wanna see what all the hype is about. ‘M a sniper too, just didn’t think a bow n arrow could hold a candle to one of my rifles,” Bucky said. Clint knew he was egging him on, could tell by the smirk on his face that just dared him to prove him wrong.

Clint cursed how good Bucky was at rile him up; he definitely wanted to wipe that dumb smirk off of his face, prove just how fucking awesome he and his bow were together, but he couldn’t help but hesitate. So many things had gone wrong, he had killed so many people, even if he didn’t want to, and Clint was finding it hard shake that fear, no matter how unfounded it was by now. He had proven he was in control in high stress situations, but god, he became so much more deadly with his bow in his hands.

But Bucky just kept watching him where he was slouching, his face relaxed and amused, and Clint felt himself beginning to mirror the posture, his shoulders relaxing just a touch. He shouldn’t be feeling relaxed, he shouldn’t be willing to shoot his bow around someone who had never seen him in action or knew how he worked, but he was. Clint rolled his eyes at himself; maybe he shouldn’t overthink it, especially if his fingers were already itching in prospect of a challenge.

Well, that was a decision made easy. Ish.

“I’m going to make you eat your words Barnes,” Clint said with a smirk, rolling his shoulders back and grinning, and Bucky brightened a little bit, standing up a little straighter.

“Don’t hold anything back, Barton. It takes a lot to impress me,” he said, and Clint rolled his eyes, before turning his back and picking up an arrow. He could feel Bucky’s eyes on his back like a brand, and it almost made him shudder. He looked at the arrow contemplatively, before he picked up two more. Maybe he should continue practice as he had before, a rhythmic task of drawing and shooting, but Bucky was watching, challenging him, and he’d be damned if he didn’t start off running.

He barely had to think about it; no matter how little he had been touching his bow over the months, his muscle memory was quick to take over, as if he had never stopped shooting at all. He took a quick breath in, before he shot, grinning when his arrows hit one, two, three dead center of three targets. Bucky hummed behind him and Clint laughed as he looked over his shoulder.

“Bet you can’t split ‘em,” Bucky taunted, and Clint snorted, rolling his eyes as he picked up three more arrows.

“Come on, at least give me a challenge Buck,” he said, notching the arrows and batting his eyelashes over his shoulder as he let the three arrows fly. He kept his gaze solely on Bucky, and took the sound of splintering wood as an indication of his success. That, and the mildly impressed look on Bucky’s face. Clint smiled smugly, and Bucky snorted and shook his head, tutting a little.

“Anyone could shoot a still target,” he scoffed, his eyes glittering with amusement and Clint turned fully, his eyebrows raised.

“Oh really? Throw something then. Anything. I’ll hit it. I won’t even have to look,” Clint said easily, and Bucky laughed, pushing off of the wall and strolling over. He cast his gaze around, before he shrugged and leaned down to pick up the plastic water bottle Clint had brought with him to the target range. Clint rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Too easy,” Clint said, and Bucky arched an eyebrow, before he pursed his lips and took the top of the bottle, flashing it at Clint.

“Better, your majesty?” Bucky asked dryly, and Clint shrugged.

“I guess. Go ahead then. Throw it,” Clint said grinning, and Bucky laughed.

“Don’t look,” he demanded, and Clint rolled his eyes with amusement but turned his face away anyways.

“Okay, I won’t look, do it already,” Clint said as he notched his arrow into place. He listened as Bucky hesitated for a moment, before he heard his clothes shift as he readied his arm to throw the cap. As soon as Bucky let the plastic slip through his fingers, Clint listened closely for the sound of the cap cutting through the air. He took in a deep steadying breath, before he let the arrow fly. He heard it hit with a click, and he whirled around, pumping his fist when he turned around and spotted the cap cut through by the arrow halfway across the room.

“Ha! Eat that, Sergeant. Sniper who- whoa,” Clint crowed, before he was abruptly cut off by Bucky grabbing him by the front of his shirt and turn them both around to back him up against one of the side walls. Clint let go off his bow on instinct as he tripped backwards, his arms coming up to clutch at Bucky’s arms. He let out a breath as his back hit the wall with a thud and the other man slid a thigh between his legs. Clint let out a laugh that was a touch raspy.

“Sore loser, Buck?” he asked, smirking, and Bucky made a low growling noise in the back of his throat that sent shocks down Clint’s legs before he leaned forward to press their mouths together.

Clint gasped a little bit, his fingers digging into Bucky’s biceps, before he relaxed his fingers and let them crawl up to grip his shoulders, adjusting his position so he could open his mouth comfortably. He hummed as Bucky immediately took the invitation, pressing his tongue in and groaning softly against his mouth.

Bucky didn’t let up until Clint’s lungs were burning, and when he did pull back he simply immediately went to work on Clint’s neck, his stubble burning deliciously against his pulse point as Bucky bit down. He arched his back, his hand scrabbling on Bucky’s shoulders before coming up to clutch at his hair. Bucky slipped a hand under his thigh to hoist it up against his hip and Clint let out a choked sound, tilting his head back and reveling in the feeling of Bucky’s strong hand flexing against his leg.

“Fuck, you’re so hot, I can’t believe I’ve never seen you shoot before,” Bucky growled against his jaw, and Clint let out a breathless laugh.

“Guess I should let you watch more often,” he managed, his breath hitching as Bucky bit his ear before moving back to kiss him on his mouth again. It was much sweeter than before, and Clint relaxed into the slower pace, his fingers slowly carding gently through Bucky’s hair before the other man pulled back and pressed his forehead to his.

They breathed each other’s air for a moment. Clint allowed his eyes to fall shut and just feel Bucky’s chest heave against his, his fingers never faulting in their steady movement through his hair. Damn it, he had yet to get used to the intensity of any of Bucky’s affections. After several moments, Bucky pulled back and pressed one final kiss to the corner of his mouth before he cupped Clint’s face in one of his big hands. Fucking sap.

 

“You should be out there with them. You’re something else with that bow,” Bucky said, his voice slightly raspy, and Clint snorted, wiggling his brows.

“I’ll say,” he said, and Bucky rolled his eyes, his ears taking on a faint flush, before he focused again, his eyes firm and holding a fire Clint was used to seeing when he talked about his missions with the Howling Commandos.

“I mean it. Stevie told me that you still weren’t allowed out but… but you should be. I can tell you miss it, Clint,” Bucky said quietly, and Clint froze a little bit.

“But I like being in the tower with you too,” he said petulantly, and Bucky chuckled, shaking his head.

“I know, but I can also tell you’re getting antsy. You were so much more grounded after your mission with Natasha. You should… you should do whatever you can to get back in the game,” he said firmly, and Clint stared at him, wondering if he knew about the evaluation he would have to go through. Bucky just looked back at him steadily, and Clint huffed out a sigh, leaning forward to rest his head against his chest.

“I’ll think about it,” he said reluctantly, and he could feel Bucky smiling as he kissed the top of his head like a dumb sap.

“Okay,” he said quietly, before he moved fully away and towards his original place against the wall, leaning back and grinning. “You can continue. I promise not to interrupt this time,” he said with a cheeky smile, and Clint laughed, scooping his bow up and adjusting himself in his pants blatantly, much to Bucky’s unending amusement.

“Careful not to cream yourself there, Sarg,” Clint snarked, and Bucky flipped him off as Clint turned his back and picked up another arrow.

He barely felt the pinch of panic as he let the next arrows fly.

***

When Clint decided to do what it took to go back on duty, he didn’t tell Bucky. Not that Bucky minded, he knew what kind of internal struggle he was making just by the way he would drift sometimes when they were making out or sparring as had become custom.

He hadn’t even known Clint had left when he had woken up that morning until he had asked JARVIS and the robot had informed him that he and Agent Romanoff had left the building early in the morning. As much as he was kinda hoping Clint would chose to get back in the game soon, he couldn’t help but be a little nervous as well. He wasn’t sure how Clint would react if he wasn’t allowed back on duty, but he knew this would be for the better, no matter how it turned out.

Lucky was picking up on his nerves, licking his face persistently until he rolled out of bed with a groan. Lucky immediately jumped down and encircled his feet as Bucky sleepily pulled on one of Clint’s hoodies that were piled up on the chair at his desk.

“Alright, you beast, let’s get you upstairs,” Bucky groaned as he stretched, and Lucky ran in a quick circle before bounding for the elevator. Seeing how well Lucky had come always made Bucky warm with both pride and affection. He knew he’d miss him when he left too, but he tried not to think about it.

Halfway up to the roof, the elevator paused and Steve stepped in as the doors opened. Lucky barked and reached up to put his paws on Steve’s stomach, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Steve looked surprised for a beat, before he grinned and knelt down to let Lucky lick all over his face. Bucky wrinkled his nose but maybe Steve just didn’t have to worry about dog spit with his super immune system.

“Morning Stevie. You ever met Lucky?” Bucky asked, and Steve glanced up at him from where he was kneeling a little sheepishly.

“I’ve been busy, but he’s certainly sweet. I’ll have to come and see him more often,” Steve said affectionately. Bucky grinned a little at that.

“I’m sure he’d like that. Lucky’s a real people’s person,” Bucky said, and Steve chuckled a little bit.

“Where you heading to, Buck?” Steve asked, his hand still settled on the dog’s head. Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, figuring now was good a time as any to have this talk that Steve’s probably been dying to have. It had been a little over two months since Steve had walked in on them, and he had yet to properly talk to him about it, much to his surprise. It seemed like he had such little time to spend with Steve lately, between his missions and Bucky’s archer shaped distraction.

“Just taking this fella out. You can come with if you want,” he offered, and Steve nodded, smiling down at the dog.

“I’m glad you kept him,” Steve said quietly, and Bucky grinned rubbing his knuckles against the underside of Lucky’s muzzle.

“I’m glad you let us keep him,” Bucky said with a grin. “He’s been a lot of help,” he continued softly as they stepped off onto the roof and moved to Lucky’s pads. Steve watched the set up for a moment, before he looked back at Bucky a little sheepishly.

“I wish he could go outside beyond this. It’s just… dangerous right now. More so than usual,” Steve said, his voice growing a little serious. Bucky watched him carefully, his brows furrowing a little bit as Steve shifted stiffly beside him.

“Are… things okay, Stevie?” he asked finally, and Steve shot him an exhausted smile.

“For now. Hydra activity is spiking the longer it takes to send you home, and their getting more lethal, taking down more competition. It’s a little concerning, especially since it seems like they are beginning to predict our movements somehow,” Steve admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. “It doesn’t help that Tony is running himself ragged trying to build that machine right now. I don’t want to bench him from helping out in the field, but he’s dead on his feet. We really need Clint right now. I’m glad you’ve been helping him get back on his feet,” Steve said, smiling a little bit as he looked out over the skyline. The strain around his mouth and eyes made Bucky frown. Steve shook himself suddenly, looking back at Bucky with a sheepish expression.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to go off there,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, and Bucky scoffed, elbowing Steve in the arm.

“Shuddup. I’m your second, Steve, you know you can always talk to me,” Bucky said, and Steve smiled a little bit, before his eyes took on a wistful expression and he looked away a little bit. Bucky knew that expression far too well, and he frowned, almost irritated. He had had enough of Steve’s cryptic silences, and he’d be damned if he had to sit through another one. But before he could confront him, Steve spoke up.

“You die before I end up here,” Steve said suddenly, and Bucky sighed a little bit. He couldn’t even pretend to be surprised. “I watch you die Buck. Seeing you here… it reminds me of everything you could’ve had if I had just been a little faster. I… I’m so sorry Bucky. I’m so sorry,” Steve said in a hushed voice, rubbing his hands over his face. Bucky watched him sadly, unsure of how to approach it. They were in the middle of the war, and it wasn’t like Bucky ever thought he’d make it out of there alive in the first place.

“Steve… I’m sure whatever happened, it wasn’t your fault,” Bucky said quietly, putting a hand on his arm, and Steve flinched slightly as his hand made contact. Bucky didn’t let up though, squeezing the other man’s arm tightly in his hand, before pulling him around to hug him tightly. Steve shuddered in his arms once, before he hugged Bucky to him tightly.

“Don’t get on that train Bucky. God please don’t,” he whispered, and Bucky couldn’t help but nod, squeezing him once more before he pulled back and put his hands up on Steve’s wide shoulders. Steve’s lost expression couldn’t help but remind Bucky of Steve before Captain America, and his heart ached a little bit.

“I won’t, Stevie. I won’t get on it,” he said, unsure what exactly he was agreeing too, but he was sure he would agree to just about anything to get that look off of Steve’s face. Steve immediately relaxed, sighing out as he wiped his hand over his face once more, before turning his to watch as Lucky finished on the pad and started running around the rooftop, barking at pigeons who had dared to land on the building’s ledge. He smiled a little at the sight, before he turned to look at Bucky slyly, and Bucky was already groaning before Steve opened his mouth.

“Clint’s nice. I’m… glad that he’s here for you, for as long as you’re going to be here,” Steve said, and while he was a little teasing, his expression was earnest. Bucky couldn’t help but snort.

“Oh, he’s much nicer than you’ll ever know Stevie,” Bucky said, wiggling his eyebrows, laughing when Steve flushed a little bit and shook his head, putting his hands up.

“I really don’t need to know what my team mate and best friend are getting up to,” Steve said as he wrinkled his knows, before his expression softened just a bit. “I just wanted to, uh, let you know I… think it’s good. For both of you. Not that you need my approval, but-“ Steve said, starting to trip a little over his words, and Bucky laughed, bumping their shoulders together.

“Relax Stevie, I’m just teasin’,” Bucky said, and Steve huffed out an annoyed sigh before pulling him into a headlock and rubbing his knuckles furiously on the top of his head, similar to how Bucky would have before the serum.

“Get offa me, punk!” Bucky yelped as he shoved at him. He cackled as Lucky came bolting over to tangle in between Steve’s feet as Steve pushed away from Bucky and made a break for the elevator. Steve paused in order to make sure he didn’t crush Lucky under his big super soldier feet, and Bucky swooped in to thump Steve on the back of his head, before throwing an arm around his broad shoulders.

“It’ll all work out, Stevie, just you wait,” he said, and Steve smiled at him, his shoulders relaxing a little, and Bucky considered it a job well done.

***

Steve was sitting in the common room when Clint came back from his psych evaluation. He was exhausted, partially from the nervous anticipation and partially from the evaluation itself. Of course it was damn uncomfortable, and of course Clint was mildly disagreeable, but the whole thing had lasted thirty minutes at most, and at the end of it he was cleared for duty. He had been absolutely sure there was going to be more to it than there was, but the woman who spoke with him was straight to the point and didn’t seem all that concerned. He had a feeling someone might have been pulling strings behind the scenes, but he had no reason to dig. The important thing was that he was back.

Steve looked up as he came in and he sat up straighter where he was on the couch, smiling at him. “How did everything go?” Steve asked. The other man was holding his sketchbook in his hands and carefully drawing what Clint guessed was probably going to be Tony. Gross.

Clint grinned, flopping onto the couch and kicking his feet up on the table as Steve set his notebook to the side to give him his full attention.

“All cleared for duty, Cap. Exited to have me back shooting the shit with Stark over the coms?” he asked cheekily, but Steve just chuckled.

“Of course. You’re part of the team Clint. It’ll be good for all of us to have you back,” he said softly, and Clint groaned, rubbing his face with his hands.

“You’ve got to try being less earnest, man,” Clint said, and Steve laughed, his eyes glittering with mirth.

“Damn, and here I was thought you’d be benched forever. It’s not like having a stellar sniper on our team would help at all,” Steve said seriously, and Clint grinned.

“Better,” he said, and Steve rolled his eyes affectionately, turning back to look at his sketch out of the corner of his eye. Clint chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head and stretching a little bit.

“Do you know where Bucky is? He being your bestie and all,” Clint asked, and Steve blinked at him in surprise, before he smiled apologetically at him, if mildly amused. Clint determined then and there that it was better when Steve was embarrassed about the development instead of whatever that look was.

“Sorry Clint. I can’t help you there, I haven’t seen him since this morning” he said, and Clint groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically.

“He’s so elusive for a guy with that heavy of footsteps,” Clint grumbled, and Steve chuckled beside him. There was a pause, and Clint suddenly realized he had given Steve the perfect opportunity to grill him about Bucky, and he was kind of done with hard questions for today. Especially hard questions asked by his leader. He was just about to spring to his feet and make his escape, when Steve spoke up.

“Things are going well with him, yeah?” he asked carefully, and Clint uncovered his face, raising his eyebrows at the other man with a smile.

“Why, you gonna threaten me?” Clint teased, and Steve looked appalled.

“What? No! Why would I do that?” Steve asked, his brows furrowing. Clint couldn’t help but laugh.

“He’s you’re bestie, right? I figured I was definitely in for a shovel talk to end shovel talks,” Clint said, and Steve stared at him for a moment, before he shook his head, chuckling a little.

“No. No shovel talk. Besides, you’re my friend too, Clint. I’d have to shovel talk Bucky if I shovel talked you,” Steve said, and Clint felt weirdly touched and mildly giddy, because as much as Steve was Steve, he was also Captain America. And he here he thought he was over his mild case of hero worship. He cleared his throat.

“Uh, thanks, I guess,” he said hesitantly, and Steve smiled. “And things are… good. Really good,” Clint admitted, staring up at the ceiling. It was almost too good. As much as Clint complained about it, Bucky really was charming, and doting, and spectacular at kissing. He couldn’t forget that.

Steve was smiling softer now, and Clint was almost a little embarrassed at it. “I’m glad. I know this has been hard for him. I know it helped that I was here, but you caught him up. I’m glad it was you,” Steve said and Clint rubbed the back of his neck.

“Awh shucks Cap, you’re gonna make me blush,” Clint said, and Steve rolled his eyes at him, huffing out an amused breath. Clint knew he had another opening to flee before Steve starting asking if they were using protection or whatever, but Steve had to know more about Bucky than Bucky ever had the chance to know about himself at this point. Maybe it was a little underhanded to ask Steve about Bucky, but there was never gonna be anyone else he could ask.

“Did you know he… ya know, liked guys?”

Maybe he asked because he was still reeling from the fact that Bucky really wanted to jump in and _court_ him or some shit. He could understand curiosity, but this was… real. And terrifying, and Bucky was just rolling with it as if he wasn’t surprised by his sudden bi inclinations like Clint was.

Clint was expecting anything from Steve, from confusion to amusement, but he was not expecting the brilliant flush that appeared on his face. Steve rubbed the back of his neck and turned his head away for a second, before he turned back and looked almost sheepish.

“Well he… he never told me that he was but there was this one time…” Steve trailed off awkwardly. Clint’s eyes widened, amusement warring with mild discomfort at this sudden knowledge, and Steve hurried on, “but it was weird, and we agreed to never talk about it again. We’re like family. But… well, it kinda clued me in.” Steve looked pensive for a moment, his eyes flickering up to finally meet Clint’s again. “But I think it’s later for him. I wouldn’t mention it to him, just in case,” Steve said quickly, almost guiltily as if he was hiding something, and Clint really wanted to ask if it was because he was embarrassed, but he decided to let it slide because Steve was really starting to squirm in his seat. And he was doing Clint a solid, dishing about Bucky’s future actions.

“My lips are sealed, Cap,” he said with a cheeky grin. Now he really needed to go, because if he spent too much time thinking about how he and Steve had both fooled around with Bucky it was going to get way more uncomfortable than he was comfortable.

He hopped to his feet. “Well, this was nice and weird, but I’ve gotta go find my dumbass, and maybe you should go check on yours. Tony tends to go kinda hard when he’s got a new project,” Clint said, and Steve chuckled a little bit, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I should. Thanks for the talk, Clint,” Steve said with a smile, before he was standing, closing his sketchbook and heading for Tony’s lab. Clint watched him go, before he sighed and scratched the back of his neck absent mindedly.

“Hey J, wanna help me fine my solider?” Clint asked.

“Master Bucky is on the roof, Agent Barton,” JARVIS said, and Clint grinned.

“Thanks JARVIS.”

“My pleasure, Agent Barton.”

When Clint stepped out onto the roof, Bucky was standing out by the ledge, looking over the New York skyline where the sun was just starting to set. It made his silhouette stand out against the blood red background, and Clint took a moment to appreciate the curve of Bucky’s shoulders in the dying light. He strolled forwards with his hands in his pockets.

“Well, isn’t this romantic,” Clint spoke up, and Bucky jumped, whirling around, before he growled, and flipped him off.

“God, I really hate it when you do that,” he sighed, and Clint just grinned in response, coming to stand next to him. Bucky shifted slightly so that their shoulders were touching and Clint chuckled a little bit, leaning into the touch ever so slightly.

“So, how did it go?” Bucky asked finally, turning to look at him a little bit, and Clint smiled.

“All clear. As if I wouldn’t be. I am in my prime, obviously,” Clint said, and Bucky chuckled, leaning over to wrap his arm around his waist and pull him closer to his side to nuzzle under his ear.

“Mhmm, I coulda told ya that,” Bucky said quietly, and Clint scoffed and shoved at his head, laughing when Bucky chose to quietly press his lips to his palm instead of moving away.

“I have no idea how I put up with you. You have got to be one of the touchiest son of a bitch I’ve ever met,” Clint complained, and Bucky laughed, bypassing Clint’s hand to bury his nose in his neck.

“You’re gonna be leaving on missions soon. Gotta get it in while you’re here,” Bucky said, and Clint rolled his eyes, but tipped his head to allow Bucky to continue to kiss along his neck, humming a little bit at the light pass of lips.

“I wish I could take you out somewhere, but Stevie said it’s getting a lil crazy out there. It might not be safe anymore for me,” Bucky admitted, and Clint turned to look at him, smiling a little bit and scrunching up his nose.

“You don’t have to take me anywhere. You know sitting in my underwear and eating pizza on the couch with you is one of the things I enjoy the most,” Clint said, and Bucky’s mouth quirked up in a smile.

“Sure, me too, but I want to take you out. I bet you’d look real nice all dolled up,” Bucky murmured against his neck, and Clint shivered a little bit.

“Why would you want to cover up all this with three layers of fancy clothing?” Clint asked, and Bucky grinned at him, his eyes hooded slightly.

 

“’Cause it’d be nice to take you outta it,” Bucky admitted quietly, and a thrill of heat danced up Clint’s spine. He twisted so his back was to the ledge and he reached out to grab Bucky’s hips, pulling him forward against his chest.

“How dare you tempt me so, Sergeant. That’s not very appropriate,” Clint mocked, and Bucky barked out a laugh, leaning forward to brush their lips together.

“Anything to get you to say yes,” Bucky said with a grin, and Clint laughed, winding his arms around his neck and leaning into him.

“Yeah okay. I’ll let you treat me. But if you try and pull out my chair I’ll shove it up your ass,” Clint threatened, and Bucky threw his head back and laughed, before leaning back forward and resting his forehead on his shoulder.

“Noted,” he said, and Clint chuckled. They stayed like that for a moment, enjoying the chilly fall breeze against his hair, until Bucky shifted and smiled a bit at him.

“I’m glad you went. Come really far since I’ve been here,” Bucky commented, and Clint shrugged one shoulder.

“I had a reason to get better,” Clint commented neutrally. Bucky watched his face carefully, his expression unreadable, before he smiled a little bit and stepped back and intertwined their fingers and tugged, nodding his head towards the elevator.

“C’mon. Need to get back to my playlist, and I bet you’re tired,” Bucky said, and Clint followed, grinning a little bit.

“Where are you at?” Clint asked, and Bucky grinned.

“90s. It’s certainly interesting,” Bucky said, grimacing a little and Clint laughed.

“I bet you’ll love the early 2000s,” Clint teased, and Bucky shrugged, but smiled all the same and Clint hip checked him before breaking their hands to run and beat him to the elevator.

Bucky shouted in irritation as he tried to shut the doors before he got in, before laughing and gasping as Bucky forced himself in and pinned him against the back wall, growling curses at him before pressing their mouths together.

He could really get used to this kinda treatment.

***

Most of the winter passed in a haze of lounging in bed to fight the chill and an influx of missions that kept Clint out of the tower more often than not. Bucky wasn’t exactly thrilled that Clint was gone, but it was always nice to hear him brag about his prowess out in the field.

On the downside, as much as Clint claimed otherwise, he wasn’t super powered, and because, additionally, he was a dumbass, he usually tried to crawl into their bed bruised and still bleeding suspiciously from some wound that probably needed more than a quick rinse in the shower. After some grumbling and whining, Clint had started to allow Bucky to patch him up while Bucky caught him up on what he did while he was basically alone in the tower.

It had given him an incredible amount of time spent with Lucky, who he had started bringing onto Steve’s floor just to run him around sometimes. That and upping his cooking skills by learning how to use the new age appliances he never really wanted to mess with in the kitchen. Clint had been beyond surprised when Bucky had demonstrated his new-found skills a morning after a rather tough mission, practically sobbing his gratitude into his cream cheese stuffed strawberry pancakes before expressing it more physically when he had fully woken up. Bucky grinned to himself at the memory, unsure if he could taste syrup again without thinking about Clint.

Most of the missions Steve and his team went on had something to do with Hydra, and it was something that unsettled almost everyone. Bucky knew there was something big looming, but he wasn’t sure just what it was.

As the year progressed, causalities rose as Hydra bases came out of no-where every few weeks, clearly from influence from the past. Steve had fielded S.H.I.E.L.D. interference until it was obvious they couldn’t handle this kind of potential take-over by themselves. Tony was still in charge of sending him back, according to Clint, who was his usual source of information on how things were looking outside of the tower.

“I dunno Buck. ‘S weird. I’ve dealt with Hydra before. They’re way more advanced, and it’s kinda throwing us all off. They’re always a step ahead,” Clint had murmured as Bucky carefully placed a gauze over his oozing shoulder and kissing the top knob of his neck. If Clint hadn’t been so thoughtful and tired, he knew he would’ve gotten at least a grumble at the overly gentle affection.

“You’ll get ‘em. You’ve got Captain America on your side. Haven’t you heard he punched Hilter in the face?” Bucky asked teasingly, laughing when Clint pinched his thigh before coaxing him to bed.

Bucky knew a big reason why he and Clint hadn’t snapped under the pressure was the all too looming knowledge that he needed to leave soon. Sometimes Clint would get touchy, and send him away with a snarl, but it wouldn’t be too long until he was coming to find Bucky to apologize sheepishly, looking tired but happy when he relents.

Sometimes Bucky didn’t want to leave, and it hit him with such a force that he’d have to stumble to his bathroom and splash water on his face to calm his panic. He had to leave all of this behind, everything he had come to love about the Tower, including, but not limited to, Clint. He thought that he would be fine when he left, but now he wasn’t sure. He knew Clint was a good man, and a great shot, but he never thought he would get quite so invested. Interested, sure, but this? He didn’t want to leave this, not after all this time, all the late-night talks about their respective siblings and the less savory things they’ve admitted to doing in the line of their work, things Bucky didn’t want to talk about with anyone, even Steve. He felt like when he left, he was going to leave a part of himself here, and he almost regretted everything. But then Clint would grin or attempt to noogie him or kiss him in the morning before anyone else entered the kitchen, and he knew he wouldn’t take it back for the world

But not everyone had the luxury he and Clint had. Steve and Stark were the busiest out of everyone else perhaps save Banner, who was working almost as aggressively as Stark. Bucky knew Steve was trying to make time, asking Bucky to help him make Stark lunch just so he’d have an excuse to interrupt him, but more often than not, Steve would come back up stairs with the plate still in his hand and a concerned expression on his face. Every time he opened his mouth to ask what had happened, Steve would just give him a tight smile before making some excuse and pushing the lunch he had made towards Bucky or Clint and taking his leave.

The only time Bucky ever saw Stark was if Steve was carrying him to bed after he had passed out in his workshop or when he surfaced to fetch a clean mug from one of the cabinets in the kitchen. He rarely responded to anyone when he was in his state, but no one seemed particularly bothered. Barring Steve, of course.

But whatever thin tape that was holding everything together under all the strain of the past couple of months came to an ugly head on a rare quiet evening a month before the one year anniversary of his trip through time. Most of the team was in the common room, catching Bucky up on yet another movie when Stark stormed in, Steve hot on his heels.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were making that… that thing!” Steve snarled, watching as Stark put a counter between the two of them and reaching for a mug on the top shelf. His hands were shaking a little bit, but Bucky couldn’t tell if it was from anger or exhaustion.

“You know we can’t mess with the timelines, Steve. You’ve seen what Hydra’s done with knowledge from the future. That can’t happen again,” Tony said as he fumbled with the coffee machine, his back still turned firmly against Steve. Bucky could tell Steve didn’t appreciate the dismissal by the tightening of his shoulders.

“That doesn’t excuse you from keeping this from me! How did you even find out about that… that device you’re making?” Steve asked, and Tony sighed, putting his hands on the counter and dipping his head down to his chest.

“Widow told me about some mind altercation stuff they were working on in the Red Room. She helped me hack into Hydra, get what I could. I’m not gonna wipe him, Steve, that’s too risky. I’m just gonna scramble what he saw here. It’ll be as minimally invasive as possible,” Tony said, finally turning around and looking at Steve with eyes red rimmed from exhaustion. Steve was unmoved.

“You should’ve cleared it through me,” Steve insisted stubbornly, and suddenly there was a flare in Tony’s eyes, and he pushed away from the counter. Bucky felt himself tensing up at the clear indication of a threat, but he knew it wasn’t his place to step in, even if they had brought their business to the common floor.

“No, I really couldn’t have Cap. You’re too close to this, way too close,” Tony said, and Steve narrowed his eyes and Tony shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “JARVIS told me when you talked to Bucky, Steve. I told him to tell me when you did it because I know you can’t stop yourself from being the hero.” Tony ran a hand through his hair. “There is no way we can send him back without at least scrambling his memories. If we don’t he could change something, and we can’t do that, no one should have that power, not even the good guys,” Stark said, clearly wanting to get angry, but too tired to even think about it. Steve however, had more than enough righteous energy.

“I can’t just send him back to die, Tony! That- I have a chance to save him, don’t you see that?” Steve asked desperately, his face red and his fingers clenched into fists tight at his side. He had that stubborn set to his jaw Bucky was used to seeing, and he knew nothing good could possible come to this. He wanted to tell Steve to knock it off, but if anyone was going to step in, it should be one of the others, who at least knew how to handle Tony. No one made a move. But Tony did, his anger flaring brighter suddenly as he stalked around the counter and shoved a hard finger into Steve’s chest, clearly startling the other man.

“No, you don’t see,” Tony hissed, overwhelmed and stretched thin. “You already had that chance Steve, and it didn’t happen, okay? This is just how it’s meant to be. Bucky has to be sent back and he’s going to die Steve. You couldn’t stop it then, and you won’t stop it now!” Tony said, his chest heaving. Steve reeled back as if he was struck, his blue eyes wide and hurt and incredibly betrayed. There was a heavy beat of silence, so still Bucky was sure if someone blinked he would feel it. Bucky saw a flicker of regret pass across Tony’s face.

“Steve… Steve, I didn’t mean it like that, you know I didn’t-“ Tony began after a moment, his voice suddenly quieter, but Steve just shook his head, keeping his eyes down and his fists clenched as he shouldered passed Tony and headed towards the elevator, his shoulders shaking lightly as he went.

Tony stood where he was, expression shocked, before he huffed and buried his face in his hands, letting out a long sigh. He stood there for a few moments, before he looked up at the group gathered in the living room, the bags under his eyes more pronounced as he frowned, before he ran a hand through his hair.

“Shows over. Sorry to interrupt,” Tony muttered, almost angrily under his breath as he walked back into the communal kitchen, grabbed his coffee and disappeared down the hallway. As one, everyone left turned to look at Bruce, who sighed a little bit and adjusted his glasses before he quietly followed Tony to what was most likely his workshop.

It was quiet for a few more moments, before Natasha stood and slunk away without a goodbye or goodnight, her expression mildly trouble. Thor continued to sit where he was for a moment, before he looked over at where Clint and Bucky were sitting with a heavy expression.

“I shall bid you a good night, brothers. This evening has been most troubling,” he rumbled as quietly as he could, before he stood and clapped them both on the shoulder before leaving.

Clint shifted next to him, before he looked over. There was a question in his eyes as he motioned in the direction that Steve had stormed out. Bucky shook his head slowly.

“Can’t go to Steve now. He needs time to feel guilty about bein’ a stubborn ass,” Bucky said, making Clint’s lips twitch with a smile, but not much else. Bucky scanned his face with worry that Clint quickly picked up on. Clint studied him for a moment, before he sighed and leaned his head down on Bucky’s shoulder.

“You’re gonna forget about… everything. I can’t believe you’re not only gonna dump a dog on me, but you’re also gonna forget about him too. Lucky’s gonna be crushed,” Clint said, trying for something light, but Bucky could hear the tightness to his voice. Bucky’s breath caught a little bit, before he put a hand up to gently run through Clint’s hair.

“I haven’t forgotten yet. There’s still time to spend with him, especially if I go see him now,” Bucky replied, his chest growing uncomfortably tight as the weight of the discovery began to settle on his shoulders. Clint sighed a little bit, before he stood up, stretching and weaving his arm through Bucky’s.

“You owe him so many dog treats,” Clint yawned, and Bucky could only laugh, because he had no idea what he could say.

When the Steve and Tony situation didn’t improve over the course of two weeks, it was becoming clear to Bucky that he might have to kick Steve in the ass for this one. If he had to watch Tony deflate at the sight of him in the kitchen one more time, he might develop a complex. Not to mention that he hadn’t seen Steve slinking around anywhere lately and if he had to leave soon, he wanted to spend some time with Steve, more for Steve’s benefit than his own for his own. Bucky got to go back to his Steve; Steve’s Bucky was gone for good.

Bucky found Steve on his own floor, clearly trying his hardest to read, but Bucky knew he wasn’t getting anywhere just from the tense set of his shoulders.

“Heya there Stevie. Good book?” he asked, and Steve jerked his head up, his eyes wide and mildly blood shot, before he ducked his head back around. His hand came up to sheepishly rub at the back of his head a little bit; he definitely knew what Bucky was here for, the little punk.

“Hey Buck. Is there something wrong?” he asked, shutting his book and staring down at the cover with an expression that was torn between guilt and nonchalance. Bucky sighed a little bit, coming closer to the couch and plopping down next to the other man. He tilted his head to the side, willing Steve to look over at him, but he never did and Bucky sighted again.

“Yeah. Ya keep sulking up here. I swear if I have to watch Stark mope over his coffee at the breakfast table one more time, I’ll lose my head,” Bucky said lightly. Steve’s fingers tightened against the book in his hand at the mention of Tony’s name, and Bucky sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“C’mon, Steve, this is ridiculous, and you know it. You’re just hurtin’ yourself and Tony by shuttin’ us all out like you are,” Bucky said gently, and Steve sighed out harshly, slamming his hand abruptly on the top of his book.

“I can’t send you back to die, Bucky. I can’t make that call,” Steve said fiercely, his voice choking up at the end. Bucky frowned, reaching over and gripping Steve’s shoulder tight.

“I haven’t been there yet, but I know for a damn fact it probably wasn’t your fault and I should kick your ass for all this survivor’s guilt you’ve clearly been holdin’ on to,” Bucky said firmly, his eyes hard. Steve opened his mouth, probably to argue, the stubborn shit, but Bucky cut him off.

“You know Tony has a point. You know Tony knows what he’s talking about. Now it’s just a matter of your dumb pride keepin’ you from getting sleep and laid, so you need to get your punk ass up and go say sorry,” Bucky said, pointing aggressively at the elevator. Steve stared at him with wide eyes, his mouth dropping open a little. His eyes took on a faraway look for a moment, before he ducked his head and he let out a mildly wet chuckle.

“Wish you could stay just so you could kick my ass when I needed it,” Steve said, aiming a wobbly smile at his lap. Bucky rolled his eyes and wrapped his arm fully around his shoulder.

“I’ll teach Clint my ways before I go, and then he can kick your ass,” Bucky teased, and Steve barked out a laugh. Bucky grinned at the sound, jostling Steve lightly with his arm, before he sobered a little when Steve turned to look at him with sad eyes.

“I’ll miss you Buck,” Steve said quietly. Bucky watched with a solemn expression for a moment, before he grinned gently.

“’Course you will. It’s a curse, lotsa dames have it,” Bucky said lightly. Steve rolled his eyes, before he suddenly grew determined and Bucky began to mentally gloat already.

“I know you’re right. I should go see Tony. He’s probably killing himself in his workshop right now. I wonder if I can even get in-“

Steve’s voice cut off abruptly, and suddenly Bucky found himself tipping to the right, completely thrown off as the Steve shaped arm rest was suddenly just… not there. He caught himself on the arm of the couch before he could fall completely over, before he stared at the place where Steve had been sitting. He blinked with confusion, quickly sitting up and squinting, looking at his arms before back down at the couch.

“Steve?” Bucky asked cautiously, standing up and casting his gaze around the room. He listened closely for the sound of movement on the floor, for a sign of Steve having done something to move that fast away from him, but he picked up nothing. His stomach suddenly dropped out ominously as he realized that not only had Steve disappeared, but all of his things were gone too, what little of them he had left on his floor. The room he was standing in looked like it had never been moved into, and Bucky suddenly felt ice in his veins.

Steve was gone.

***

“Should be done in a couple of weeks, if we’re lucky. Just gotta run a few more tests on the scrambler and the actual time machine, but I think we’re almost in the clear,” Tony said, as Clint squinted at the shiny machines in front of him. It made him a little sick, thinking about how these would be the things that take Bucky away from him in more than one way.

He knew Bucky couldn’t remember what happened, he should’ve known they would need to wipe him, but it still made his gut clench uncomfortably. He didn’t like that they would be essentially sticking their fingers in Bucky’s mind; it hit too close to home, even if Clint knew Bucky was okay with it, agreed with it even. Clint didn’t want to agree, he didn’t want Bucky to forget him, as selfish as it was, because he knew he wouldn’t forget Bucky and it would be hell.

God, he really didn’t want him to go. With an end in sight, Clint suddenly wasn’t sure what exactly he was going to do when Bucky was back where he belonged. God, what a pathetic thought. Bucky had ruined him, and Clint had enjoyed it. He used to be so much tougher than a set of pretty eyes and a sassy mouth.

He hated everything right now.

“You gonna be okay, Katniss,” Tony piped up from where he was wielding a blowtorch, and Clint snorted, rolling his eyes as he watched Tony worked.

“Of course; I’m Hawkeye,” Clint retorted. “Besides, shouldn’t you be more concerned about you? You look like shit,” he said, grinning when Tony flipped off the blowtorch and flipped up his heavy mask to scowl at him.

“I’m doing just peachy, Hawkguy. I’m building a time machine to send my boyfriend’s best friend back in time essentially to his death and he kind of hates me right now,” Tony said bitterly as he took his gloves off and reached over to pick up a mug of coffee that was most likely incredibly cold and old. Clint wrinkled his nose as Tony sipped at it, before Clint sighed and crossed his arms.

“Don’t be a dramatic asshole, he doesn’t hate you. I don’t think Steve could hate anything besides fascism and exploitation of the poor,” Clint said, and Tony snorted, rolling his eyes as he turned his back and immediately starting to inspect the plans again, clearly trying to end the conversation. He hoped Bucky was having more luck than he was with Tony.

Just as Clint opened his mouth to press Tony until he was so annoyed he wanted to leave, Bucky burst through the workshop doors, his eyes wide and his face pinched with concern. Clint immediately got to his feet, eyeing Bucky’s fearful expression with trepidation, but all of Bucky’s energy was being put towards Tony.

Steve.

“Ah, solider boy! We were just talking about you-“ Tony began, still facing his holograms, but Bucky cut across him almost frantically.

“It’s Steve. He’s… he’s gone,” Bucky said, his voice confused and concerned. Tony’s head shot up, his brows furrowing.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Tony asked as he swiveled around to face him. Clint could tell Tony was trying to seem disinterested, but there was an insecure bite behind the words that had Clint almost flinching. Bucky shrugged.

“He’s just… gone. He disappeared right in front of me! I watched it! And all of his stuff in his bedroom, everything, it’s just not there anymore,” Bucky said. Tony stared at Bucky for a long moment, his mind clearly racing. If Clint didn’t know Bucky better, he’d ask what kinda asshole plays a prank like that, but the expression of panic on his face was setting Clint on edge. It didn’t ease any when Tony’s eyes suddenly widened, before he turned back to his set up.

“JARVIS, get Banner in here. Now,” he said, his voice hard as he went back into motion, his shoulders stiff. Clint slowly moved towards Bucky, putting a hand on his arm. Bucky looked over at him and tried a smile that fell flat just as Bruce appeared, looking a little green around the gills. He calmed some as he took in his surroundings and determined there was no obvious threat, annoyance threatening to take place of adrenaline.

“Tony-“ Bruce began, but Tony just waved his hand, gesturing for Bruce to come closer.

“C’mere, we need to run tests, and we need to do them right now, every test we used for Barnes without actually touching Barnes and then some, but I can’t do them all by myself and I need this data now,” Tony stressed, and Bruce opened his mouth to question, but wisely shut it as Tony glared at him and turned back to his computers.

Clint finally turned away from the sight of the two scientists dancing around each other, pulling Bucky’s gaze to him. Bucky was clearly resisting the urge to interfere and rip answers out of something, the computers or Tony, Clint wasn’t sure.

“He disappeared? Just like nothing?” Clint asked quietly. Bucky’s eyes were troubled as he looked at him.

“I… I dunno. He was right there, next to me, and then… then he wasn’t. Nothing else happened Clint. It’s like I’m goin’ crazy,” Bucky breathed out and Clint stared at him, before he nudged him gently.

“Hey, the crazy thing was pre-established,” Clint teased lightly. Bucky’s shoulders relaxed minutely at that, rolling his eyes a little bit.

“So what does that make you’re dumb ass for puttin’ up with me, then?” Bucky asked with a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes, but Clint knew a distraction when he saw one.

“Crazy ‘bout you, obviously, Sarg.” Clint said with a grin, and Bucky blinked at him, before he laughed.

“And you call me a sap,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes, and Clint shrugged. He chanced a glance back at the Tony and Bruce, who were still absorbed in their equipment, before back at Bucky.

“Wanna go upstairs?” he asked carefully. Bucky looked at him for a moment, before he shook his head, looking a little embarrassed.

“I just wanna know what happened,” Bucky said quietly and Clint shrugged.

“Don’t blame you, but I’m not gonna stand here for however long it takes for them to figure it out, so take a seat, Barnes,” Clint said, pushing Bucky back until he stumbled onto the only couch in Tony’s workshop, “and tell me one of those old man war stories you’re so fond of,” Clint finished as he flopped down next to him. Bucky looked at him, grateful and a fondly exasperated all in one, before he settled back against the couch and took a deep breath before starting.

Bucky talked for a long time, his voice quiet but soothing, but intense in a way that kept Clint focused, at least for a little while. Clint wasn’t sure how much time had passed, enough that Bucky had started to drift a little bit after his last story, but Clint was too wired to even think about joining him. Tony and Bruce were starting to look more and more frantic as time passed, and it was doing absolutely nothing for Clint’s nerves.

Suddenly, they both froze, and all of the color went out of Tony’s face.

Oh fuck.

Clint gently jostled Bucky awake, who flinched and sat up, looking around frantically. He stilled when he caught sight of Tony and Bruce, who were both staring at the hologram in front of them with varying degrees of horror.

 “What year was it when you left, Bucky?” Tony asked faintly. Bucky furrowed his brows in confusion, his eyes tracking Tony’s expression with tired eyes that were growing more alarmed and alert as the seconds passed.

“Uh, it was 1944,” he said slowly, and Tony sat back in his chair bonelessly, bringing a hand up to his face. Bruce let out a curse, taking his glasses off and running a hand through his hair, before he placed them back on his face and immediately turned to his other computer, his fingers flying over the keyboard. Clint noticed after a beat that Tony was trembling where he was sitting in his chair. Bucky tensed up next to him.

“Why does it matter?” he asked sharply, and Tony looked back at him, his mouth twisted up in an expression that Clint had trouble placing.

“Looks like your absence has done a little bit more than give Hydra weapons,” Tony said almost bitterly as he gestured to the screen in front of himself, and Bucky stood up suddenly, moving over to Tony’s side in quick strides that Clint scrambled to follow.

“Tony, we’re gonna figure this out. I’m sure we can bring him back, we can make something, I-“ Bruce was saying, but his voice fading into background noise as Clint read the article Tony had pulled up over Bucky’s shoulder that was beginning to shake gently.

_Steven Grant Rogers, A.K.A. Captain America was killing in action October 15, 1946 after infiltrating a Hydra base where the late James “Bucky” Barnes was recorded to have last been seen…_

Clint’s mouth was dry, and he wanted to say something to Bucky, anything, but nothing would come. He didn’t even know where he would start, especially since he didn’t know how this was possible in the first place.

“Bruce, stop. Just stop. You know there’s one thing we can do to fix this, and it’s not by making a new thing,” Tony said over Bruce, who instantly fell quiet, his face contracting with concern as he watched Tony turn away from him.

But suddenly Bucky was there, grabbing Tony by the front of his shirt and shaking him. Clint immediately reached out to grab Bucky’s shoulder and pull him off, but Tony held out a hand to stop him, and Clint hesitated.

“What the hell is that?” Bucky demanded, his voice strained, and Tony looked at him coolly, his eyes closed off in a way Clint hadn’t seen in a while. It made his skin crawl uncomfortably.

“Steve wasn’t on that plane that crashed into the ocean. It was some other no name hero because Steve had other bigger fish to fry, stopping weapons way too advanced for anyone else to handle from decimating half of Europe. So instead of napping for seventy years and popping out here, with us, he was killed in action by a weapon Hydra never should have had a year later. And our Steve? He just… stopped existing. His timeline doesn’t exist here anymore, so he doesn’t exist, or so the theory goes” Tony said almost snidely, and Bucky’s eyes widened at that, before he suddenly released Tony’s shirt, his lips parting to say something, anything, and Clint could already see the guilt boiling there in his eyes.

“But… how come we remember him?” Bucky asked desperately, and this time, it was Bruce who answered.

“We don’t know, but it was clear Steve wasn’t having double memories, or else he would’ve been more help in describing what kinds of weapons Hydra were making after you disappeared from the 40s. We’re thinking this timeline is growing unstable. Imagine there is a virus changing things irreversibly in the past, not only changing this future, but apparently erasing whole people,” Bruce said, rubbing a hand over the lower half of his face. “I looked at police reports dating back to when you first showed up here to confirm my suspicion, and it looks like there has been a spike of missing persons. Specifically persons who apparently, no longer exist. It’s been happening this whole time we just… never thought to look. There was no reason to look,” Bruce said solemnly. Tony didn’t say anything, but Bucky was backing off, looking shell shocked and torn.

“Tony, I-“ Bucky began, his voice hoarse and his eyes wide, but Tony just waved a hand at him, shaking his head firmly.

“No. Just… just leave. I need to finish this and I need to send you back. Then everything will work out,” Tony said, his voice shaking just a touch as he rubbed his temples. When neither Bucky nor Clint moved, he looked up, his eyes cold and firm with determination. Bruce was hovering near his shoulder, his lips pulled down in a frown, tilting his head towards the door. Bucky looked like he wanted to argue, but Clint shook his head, grabbing Bucky’s arm and leading him away.

Bucky only struggled a little bit, before he suddenly stopped resisting, his arm going limp in Clint’s hold. Bucky followed him numbly, on instinct, and Clint hated it, hated that lost look that was so apparent on his face as they took the elevator up to his floor. It wasn’t right. Bucky always acted like he knew what to do, even if he was pulling it straight out of his ass. He had taken to the 21st century, to Clint, like nothing. Seeing him look lost after all this time…

“Bucky-“ Clint began as soon as they stepped onto his floor. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was going to say, but he had to say something. Goddamn it, it was right about now he wished he had learned how to talk about his feelings instead of shutting them down.

Bucky just shook his head when Clint spoke up, shutting his eyes as he sat down on the couch. Lucky trotted out of the room, but seemed subdued by the mood. Bucky let out a shuttering

breath as Clint sat down carefully next to him.

“This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have been here. All those people... not just Steve, but all those missing persons…” Bucky said numbly, and Clint’s heart clenched. Bucky wasn’t allowed to think like that, not when everything was so far out of their hands. He was familiar with this kind of guilt, even if the circumstances weren’t quite the same, and he refused to let Bucky sit in the same place he did when he deserved it even less. He reached out blindly and gripped Bucky’s arm.

“Don’t say that,” Clint demanded hoarsely, and Bucky looked over at him, his eyes bright with tears that Bucky was stubbornly refusing to let fall.

“You know it’s true. I was never supposed to be here. If it weren’t for me, Steve would-“ he began, but Clint cut him off with a violent kiss, his nails digging into Bucky’s upper arms as he pulled him forward. Bucky was still for a moment, before he returned the kiss, something that sounded like a sob uttered against Clint’s lips as he pulled away and pressed his forehead harshly to Bucky’s.

“Don’t. Just don’t. This was not your fault, none of this was your fault. Hydra being a bag of dicks was always a thing. You just happened to be caught in the middle,” Clint said fiercely, watching Bucky avert his eyes. Clint shook him so he would look again, and he swallowed hard. “And… and I don’t care how selfish it is. You had to be here for me, you asshole, so don’t say that you were never supposed to be here,” Clint said, his breath hitching embarrassingly. This was so stupid, it wasn’t about him. It was about Steve, and how he was basically _dead_ and how Bucky really, honestly wasn’t ever meant to be here. But Clint was selfish, and he didn’t want to hear that now; he didn’t want to hear that ever.

 Bucky’s expression softened slightly at the desperation clear in Clint’s voice. Clint almost felt guilty as Bucky pulled him into a crushing hug that Clint immediately returned, gripping the back of his shirt for dear life as he did so.

“Okay. I won’t. I’m sorry. I won’t say it.”

Bucky’s voice shook slightly as he spoke, and Clint squeezed his eyes shut at the trembling admission. He should be mollified, he should be happy to hear that, but he wasn’t. Clint couldn’t ask Bucky to lie to him, to tell him he doesn’t regret living briefly in a century he was never meant to see with a man he was never meant to meet, because no matter what, he knew Bucky would still believe it, whether he said so or not.

Maybe that was worse.

***

Bucky stared at his phone almost blankly, tilting the device back and forth as he debated what song to play.

As much as he tried, he couldn’t get what happened to Steve out of his mind. How he disappeared without so much as a word or anything. The only thing he could do to help was the only thing he found he really didn’t want to do, even if that had been the goal since the beginning. That low level despair was only exemplified by the fact that he couldn’t help but think about how much of a mess his presence had caused. Specifically with Stark and the function of their team. To have their leader taken from them when the uptick in Hydra activity grew more intense every passing hour…

But music was nice, even if thinking about how each song was a song Steve thought he would like smarted just a little bit. Steve, whose first response when he realized Bucky was going to stay a while was to hand him a playlist, because he knew Bucky found comfort there. Damnit, Bucky was supposed to be there for him too, no matter what century it was. How could he let this happen to him? Steve had been so happy here, even if he didn’t have Bucky anymore, and Bucky had practically ripped that away from him.

He covered his face with his arm, letting his phone slip out of his hand and onto Clint’s bed. He suddenly wished fiercely that Clint wasn’t out on a mission. Without Steve, the missions got that much longer, and had that many more costs, and Bucky kinda hated it because he wanted Clint here. He knew he hadn’t been the best company since Steve had disappeared, but Clint understood because Clint understood _him_.

Bucky felt Lucky jump up onto the bed and he reached out his other hand blindly to pet along the dog’s back. Lucky slumped down and put his snout on Bucky’s stomach, before sighing through his nose and Bucky couldn’t help but smile a little bit.

“Good boy, Lucky,” he murmured softly, gently ruffling the dog’s ears. “Always been such a good boy. You gotta keep bein’ good for Clint when I’m gone. Keep him outta trouble, ‘kay Lucky? I’m countin’ on you, boy,” Bucky said, smiling when Lucky leaned his head into Bucky’s hand.

“And just who the fuck is gonna keep you out of trouble, then, asshole?” a voice said from his right, and Bucky’s head shot up, jostling Lucky a little bit. The dog didn’t seem to mind, but he had perked his ears up at the sound of Clint’s voice. Bucky couldn’t help the flood of relief he felt every time Clint came back safe, and he found himself smiling.

“Steve, of course,” Bucky said instinctively, before he froze a little bit, the delight souring just a touch as he remembered why he wanted Clint with him so desperately. Clint, thankfully, didn’t flinch, just hummed as he shucked off his filthy vest and scrubbed a hand through his dirty hair.

“Long day?” Bucky asked, changing the subject, and Clint smiled a little, shrugging.

“You could say that. Kickin’ a lot of Hydra ass, getting tossed about by antigravity bombs that suddenly exist. The usual,” Clint said, and Bucky narrowed his eyes at the bruises mottling Clint’s back as the other man turned to enter his bathroom.

“Ya know, this would be way more of a show for me if you didn’t look like you were just thrown around like some bastard’s plaything,” Bucky drawled out and Clint let out a bark of laughter, tossing a wink over his shoulder.

“I’ll show you how much of a plaything I am when I get out,” Clint snarked easily, and Bucky laughed, feeling his shoulders relaxing a little bit at that familiarity of their banter. He watched Clint until the bathroom door shut, before he turned his gaze back to the ceiling.

Clint was a comfort, but one he wouldn’t have soon. Every second they spent together was exhilarating and amazing and better than Bucky ever thought something like this could be, but it all came with the knowledge that it wouldn’t last, that it couldn’t last, and that was something Bucky really couldn’t think about either.

“Damnit,” he said to nothing, rubbing his face with his hands. Lucky whimpered softly, and Bucky sat up, crossing his legs and letting Lucky climb into his lap. He hugged him close to his chest, willing the ache building there to relax some.

He lost track of time, his ears not picking up on Clint leaving the bathroom as he rubbed his face into Lucky’s fur, trying to ground himself to what he had right now. He startled when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder and he looked around at Clint, who was watching him with furrowed brows. There was concern there, but also understanding and a hint of sadness that accompanied it that made Bucky want to tense of defensively. He forced himself to relax, leaning just a touch into Clint’s grip.

“Clint…” Bucky began, but trailed off immediately, unsure how he was even going to finish that sentence. He had so many things he wanted to say, but none of the vocabulary to say it properly.

Clint stared at him for a moment, before he smiled a little bit. “C’mon, Sarg, get your ass up, there’s one more dance we should try,” he said suddenly. Bucky was a little thrown by the sudden change in the mood, but he couldn’t help but chuckled a little bit at it all the same; of course Clint wanted to dance when his back was a mess. But it was a welcome distraction, and Bucky would do anything to have an excuse to hold Clint close to him without the other man complaining about the heat. He shifted his legs so Lucky climbed off before he rose to his feet and followed Clint into the next room.

“Is it another one of your 21st century dances? Because I don’t know if you can handle that right now,” Bucky said pointedly, and Clint rolled his eyes.

“Nah, nothing too intense, promise. I know you’re worried about your knees giving out, old man, but I’ll go easy on you,” Clint said, and Bucky shoved him gently in the shoulder before helping him move the couch out of the way.

“Have you done some house cleaning while I was away, _dear_?” Clint asked as he surveyed the lack of clothes on the ground, and Bucky couldn’t help but grumble and flush a little bit. He had been bored and kind of stir crazy but he hadn’t wanted to leave Clint’s floor because he was also lonely and Lucky had been there. So yeah, he had picked up a little, sue him.

“It was starting to smell,” Bucky said gruffly, but Clint just snickered and leaned into kiss him.

“My little housewife,” he teased against his mouth, and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“I hate you,” he grumbled, and Clint grinned, before pulling Bucky’s body closer before he could make some move to get back at him.

“You’ve slow danced, haven’t you Sarg.? It wasn’t all throwing ladies around and sweating back in the day, was it?” Clint asked as he took Bucky’s one hand in his and grabbed his upper arm with his other. Bucky arched an eyebrow even as the hand not clasped in Clint’s came naturally to the other man’s waist, his mouth ticking up at the corner when Clint’s smile softened some.

“’Course. Just didn’t take you for the type, what with all your bitchin’ ‘bout how touchy I am,” Bucky teased, laughing when Clint took mock offense, squeezing their combined hands hard enough to hurt a little.

“Shuddup, it was a hard mission you giant ass; so what if I wanna take it easy,” Clint complained, and Bucky snorted, but let Clint get away with it. He couldn’t say he wasn’t eternally grateful for whatever bullshit reason Clint gave him as Clint pulled them close enough together that the sides of their faces were brushing lightly. Clint brought their hands close to his chest and Bucky couldn’t help it when his breath hitched just a little. There was something much more intimate about being held like this, even more so than the few times the two of them had rutted on Clint’s couch like a couple of randy teens.

“JARVIS, play something old and slow, but not too old,” Clint said quietly, his breath brushing Bucky’s ear and making him shiver pleasantly.

JARVIS didn’t even bother gracing them with a response, a soft almost somber melody beginning to tinkle from the speakers above them without much preamble. Bucky recognized it as one of the songs from the 50s Steve had put on his list as they started swaying back and forth to the music. Clint chuckled a little bit.

“I said not too old,” Clint murmured, but didn’t seem upset, just amused, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“So hard to please,” Bucky teased. He expected Clint to quip back, but instead the other man just settled further against Bucky’s chest, pressing the side of his face more firmly to Bucky’s.

“I dunno, I’m pretty happy right now,” Clint admitted softly. Bucky felt something warm ignite in his stomach, causing tingles to rush down his fingertips to wear he was connected to Clint.

“Me too,” Bucky said quietly, and it wasn’t a lie. Clint responded by tightening his grip on Bucky’s arm as they turned in slow steady circles. Bucky wasn’t really sure who was leading, but he found he didn’t really care. The only thing that mattered was Clint, and how close he was, and how much Bucky _loved_ him. Because he did. He loved Clint, and maybe that should scare him and maybe he should be upset, but he couldn’t, not when it felt so _good_ to love him.

His breathing shuddered in his chest, and he felt Clint rub where he was holding his arm in an almost soothing way.

“Everything okay?” Clint asked, just loud enough to be heard over the crooning of Peggy Lee, and something tender and delicate inside of Bucky broke under a surge of emotion. He pulled back enough to look at Clint’s mildly concerned face, and that made him feel an even stronger rush of affection. He looked at the blue in Clint’s eyes and he couldn’t help but feel suddenly emboldened by the affection and intimacy he saw in Clint’s expression.

“I love you,” Bucky said abruptly, and Clint froze, pulling Bucky to a stop as well. Clint stared at him with wide eyes, and for a moment, Bucky was sure he had just botched everything. Clint had never been a words kind of guy, spoke with his actions, but Bucky needed to tell him. He had to before he forgot, and then no one would know, not even Clint.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Bucky said when Clint opened his mouth but no words came out. “In fact, you don’t have to react at all. I just… I wanted you to know that, before… everything,” Bucky said out in a rush, now starting to feel a hint of panic that Clint was going to vanish now until he had to leave. But after one more tense beat, Clint untangled their hands and brought his palm up to yank his head down into a kiss.

It was fierce, and desperate, and behind all of that, just a touch sad, and Bucky relaxed immediately into it, letting Clint lead, say what he needed to say, just like this. And Bucky listened. He heard everything Clint couldn’t voice, all of it hidden in the slide of Clint’s lips gently down the side of his jaw and the way his fingers curled into the waistband of his sweats before pulled him to their bedroom.

When Clint had divested them of their clothes and guided Bucky’s slick fingers between his legs, Bucky heard ‘I trust you’ and ‘I want you’. When Clint was arching his back and wrapping strong legs around his hips, he dug crescent shapes into his shoulders with bitten off nails that felt like desire and need. Clint could only gasp and tremble, but Bucky couldn’t stop himself from murmuring into his skin, wherever he could reach, praise and adoration, pressing kisses to Clint’s wrists when he grasped onto his neck to pull him closer. The salt he could taste as he sucked a final bruise onto Clint’s collar bone while they were both coming down tasted as bitter as the knowledge that this was a confession as much as it was pained acceptance of everything they were going to lose.

“I love you, I love you,” Bucky breathed into his neck, and Clint smiled where his mouth was pressed against the side of his face.

“I know,” he said softly as he pushed him to roll so he could press his chest to Bucky’s his fingers tracing shapes on Bucky’s bare back. Bucky shut his eyes and let his breathing slow into a gentle rhythm that Clint picked up immediately, hiding his face in Bucky’s shoulder.

Whether he had another week with Clint or another month, he knew it would never be enough, but he had to make his peace with that. Maybe Bucky wouldn’t remember Clint, but in the moment, and for as many moments they would have from now, he knew exactly where they stood, and that was enough. It had to be enough.

Later, when Bucky was strapped into the chair that would take everything he had gained away from him, he wished he had made this, their last moment, last just a little longer.

***

Clint awoke to the sound of an alarm.

The first thing he noted was the frantic movement beside him as Bucky launched himself out of bed. The second thing he noted was the fact that he still didn’t have his aids in, but the alarm was still loud enough that his ears could still pick it up enough for it to bother him.

His eyes were barely open by the time he was wide awake, sliding his hearing aids in. His body on high alert as he flew out of bed and towards his gear, all aches from yesterday’s mission and the night before background noise as his mind raced. Bucky was already pulling a shirt over his head as Clint started throwing on his clothes, snatching a bow from its place in his closet. Lucky was panting nervously as he paced around the room, and Bucky knelt to comfort him even as he looked up at Clint.

“What does that mean?” he asked, his voice still rough from sleep, and even though this was a high intensity situation, Clint couldn’t help but admire the way his voice sounded when he was tired, his hair a mess atop his head. Clint could just make out the mark he had left under Bucky’s jaw and he wished he had more time to savor the morning after their first, rather emotional, time together. Clint really wasn’t the kind to be sentimental about shit like that, and he almost wanted to scrub his own thoughts at that disgustingly sappy irritation he was feeling. At the same time, he wasn’t sure when the last time he had used sex for anything other than letting off steam, and he kinda wanted to make a point about that, damnit! But now wasn’t the time, not when the tower was under attack.

“Something’s trying to get into the tower. Whoever or whatever it was must’ve made it passed Tony’s first wall of security, which means I’ve got to get down there and help,” Clint said, already stuffing arrows into his quiver as quickly as he could. He looked up when a hand stilled his movements.

Bucky was looking at him with stubborn determination as he said fiercely, “I’m coming with you this time.” Clint stared at him, feeling a suddenly jolt of anxiety. How the hell was he supposed to focus on helping when he would be constantly wondering if Bucky had gotten laid out flat on his ass, injured or worse? He frowned.

“Absolutely not,” Clint said immediately, and Bucky scowled.

“I’m not a child Clint. I’m tired of not being there to have your back. Lemme come with,” Bucky said stubbornly. Clint opened his mouth to argue that they really didn’t have the time to debate this, when Bucky’s shoulders slumped and he murmured, “Please.”

Clint stared at him, torn, but he really couldn’t say no to that, not after everything. He huffed with mild exasperation mostly at how much of a pushover he was when it came to Bucky. He paused for a moment, observing Bucky’s very plain, very unarmored sweats and t-shirt, before he suddenly snapped his fingers and grinned. He scrambled to grab his stingers from under his desk before he tossed them at Bucky, who looked at them with both confusion and awe.

“Crash course. Those are stingers. Put them on your wrists. Use the palm button and aim them away from your body. Now come on, and stay behind me,” Clint said firmly, turning his back and praying that it wasn’t an entirely shit idea to let Bucky tag along.

There was no way in hell they were taking the elevator, especially if JARVIS was compromised like Clint suspected. As they made their way down the stairs, Clint with his bow drawn back, his mind raced with all the things that could be happening to his the rest of his tower mates. This had to be Hydra, and if it was Hydra, there was no telling what the hell that were pulling out this time. He knew Natasha had to be okay, because she was Natasha, knew they all had to be okay because they were Avengers, damnit, but it didn’t stop his heart from threatening to jump out of his throat.

The two of them made their way to the communal floor just as the entire tower shook dangerously around them, and Clint cursed.

“Fuck your shitty building design, Stark. If this falls over and we both live, I’m suing your rich ass,” he said under his breath.

“Well, that’s not very nice, bird boy,” a voice said from the right, and Clint jumped, his bow swinging around to point directly at Iron Man, his fingers just barely managing to reflexively keep a hold of the string he was so ready to release. He snarled as he lowered his bow, glaring at Tony.

“I could’ve shot you,” Clint said, and Tony shrugged, the suit whirring as the face plate slid back and revealed Tony’s tight and intense expression. Clint noted distantly that Tony looked like complete and utter shit, and he had a sneaking suspicion it had less to do with the current situation and more to do with the Steve shaped situation. Not that Clint could blame him, but he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty; maybe he should’ve tried to be there for him a little more. Not that he could do anything now. Now, there was a very real problem that he could help with.

“We have a problem,” Tony said without preamble. “I’m sure you’ve guessed, but Hydra’s slamming the tower with ever little fucked up artilerary they’ve managed to pick up so we’re entering crunch time. Widow, Banner, and Thor are out there trying to hold them off, but we’ve got to move fast,” Tony said firmly, before he threw something in Bucky’s direction. Bucky instinctively reached up and plucked the projectile out of the air, before looking down at it in confusion.

“Get suited up, Soldier boy, we’re sending you home. Now,” Tony said, and both Clint and Bucky whipped their heads up to stare at him, before at each other. Clint could read the regret and fear and surprise in Bucky’s face, and he forced himself to look back at Tony whose face plate had slide back down to hide his expression.

“But first, we need to get down to the workshop. We’re going to lock it down because as much as I’m pro-Avenger ass-kicking, there are a lot of them, and I’m not sure how long they can stop all of them from getting in,” Tony said as he started towards the stairwell, not checking to see if Clint or Bucky was following as he continued to talk. “I wasn’t _completely_ done with the testing, but I’m ninety-five… well seventy-five percent sure this will work,” Tony said as he punched in his codes for the workshop quickly. Bucky gripped his uniform in his hands, frowning pensively, but he nodded all the same even, his eyes hardening. Clint’s gut clenched uncomfortably.

The sirens were particularly loud in the lab, and they only got louder as Tony put the lab into lockdown, almost to a point where Clint was itching to take his aids out. The sound cut off abruptly as lockdown finished, emergency lights turning the lab space an eerie blue. Clint shut his eyes and forced himself to focus; he had been doing so well, now was not the time.

He felt a grip on his shoulder and he turned around. Bucky was standing there, grounding him with a simply touch, and Clint let out a breath. He stared at Bucky for a beat, before he grimaced a little and he nodded his head once. He could do this. For Bucky. For all of them. Bucky smiled just a little bit as Clint continued to breathe before he was disappearing into a separate part of Tony’s lab to get changed.

Clint watched him leave, before he turned and followed Tony to where he was standing. He was still in his suit as he leaned over his computers, glancing over every so often at the chair sitting in front of his screens. Clint grimaced at the sight; he didn’t want to think about what kind of power that technology had. He forced himself to turn away, startled when he noticed Tony watching him.

“What?” he asked defensively, his shoulders tight. It was impossible to read Tony’s expression with the faceplate down, but he had a feeling Tony was pitying him, and he hated it.

“This is the only way,” Tony said quietly, and Clint rolled his eyes, almost angrily. Because he _knew_ that. He knew that this was the only way; he wasn’t a child. But at the same time, he wasn’t going to pretend he was overjoyed because he wasn’t. He wasn’t.

He opened his mouth to tell Tony just that, but there was the sound of someone clearing their throat behind them both, and Clint and Tony turned at the same time to look towards Bucky. Clint felt something stick uncomfortably in his chest and he felt his breath catch.

Bucky looked exactly like he did when Clint first saw him, his uniform still a little scuffed, but still as form fitting as it was all those months ago. Bucky cleaned up nice, and if this had been any other situation, Clint would be eager to run his hands through Bucky’s hair and dishevel the perfect image he made. But this wasn’t the time, nor the place.

There would never be a time or place for them. Not anymore.

Clint swallowed around the lump in his throat as Bucky took a deep breath and moved towards Tony, who, surprisingly, was keeping quiet. Clint watched as Bucky stared at the Iron Man suit, before he nodded his head, and Tony finally slid his face plate up. His expression was hard and serious as he nodded his head towards the chair.

“Take a seat. I’ll let Clint strap you in,” Tony said, and Clint baulked a little bit, even though Bucky didn’t even pause, just calmly walked towards the chair, as calm as a man who was mounting the steps to an execution block.

“Why the hell does he need to be strapped in?” Clint demanded, even as he moved to do as Tony commanded as the man began typing away furiously.

“I may not be wiping him, but messing with anyone’s brain is gonna hurt. I just want to make sure he stays still so we can finish this,” Tony said, his voice grave, and for a split second, Clint considered saying fuck it and refusing, forcing Bucky to stay with him. No one should have their head mess with, it wasn’t right and it did hurt. He looked at Bucky desperately as the other man sat there in the chair. How could he put Bucky through that? And Bucky, that stupid, stupid, perceptive asshole, shook his head. Just once. And all the fight left him.

This was it. There was no point trying to run.

Clint stepped forward and knelt to first strap Bucky’s ankles in, just so he could steady himself before he had to take his last look at Bucky. He stood carefully and looked at Bucky in the eyes.

The only thing he saw there was acceptance, numb and heartbreaking. Clint wished his hands weren’t shaking as he strapped Bucky’s wrists to the chair. He took a deep breath, before he gripped Bucky’s hands as tightly as he could and leaned in to kiss him.

He pressed all he could into the kiss, everything he couldn’t say because if he did, and Bucky left, he wouldn’t be able to put himself back together. Bucky responded as best as he could, his neck arching off the back of the unforgiving chair as he tried to get closer to Clint. This was a goodbye, Clint knew that, but he didn’t want to pull away. He didn’t want to break it because as soon as he did it was over, and he wasn’t ready, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself he was.

The moment splintered as they sprung apart at the sound of a sharp bang against the door of the locked down lab. Clint whipped his head around, before back to Bucky, shaking his head fiercely.

“Clint, we have to go, now,” Tony said urgently behind him, and Clint wanted to scream. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair that Bucky had to not only leave, but he had to forget at the same time. He was horrified to find that unwanted tears were starting to build behind his eyes. He refused for the last thing Bucky ever saw of him, ever remembered of him was tears. He wanted him to remember that… that he was everything to Clint. Became everything to him in such a short amount of time, the stupid bastard.

“Go,” Bucky murmured softly, the calm façade he was wearing starting to crumble a little bit, and Clint squeezed his eyes shut, before he leaned forwards and pressed a fierce kiss to his forehead before securing the final to his forehead, gently securing his head against the device.

“I’ll remember for both of us, you giant asshole,” Clint said, and Bucky’s lips ticked up in a sad smile.

“Thank you,” Bucky said quietly,and Clint nodded, stepping back and swallowing hard as he made his way behind Tony, where he would be safe. There was another loud bang outside of lab once more, and Tony sped up, his shoulders hunched over his computers.

“Here we go, Sergeant. It might sting a little,” Tony said, and Bucky rolled his eyes a little bit.

“Get on with it,” Bucky demanded, and Tony shrugged, before he turned a little to look at Clint. Clint stared back at him, tilting his chin up and setting his jaw. Tony’s expression was unreadable as he surveyed Clint, before he turned back to his computer.

“On three,” Tony murmured, before holding up his fingers.

Clint was preparing himself for this, had been trying to prepare himself for months, but the breath was still kicked out of his chest when Tony threw the lever and Bucky’s entire body arched away from the chair. He screamed, and Clint had to force himself to stay where he was, digging his fingernails viciously into his palms.

There were a few more bangs from outside of the door, but Clint didn’t care. He couldn’t care, because he was watching as he lost everything, and he couldn’t look away.

It felt like hours, but it was only seconds before Tony was flipping the switch again. Bucky went boneless, his body slumped in the chairs. Clint wanted to step forward and ask him if he was okay, unstrap his wrists and make sure he hadn’t hurt himself, but he couldn’t. Because Bucky wouldn’t know him. Bucky wouldn’t _know him._

“Let’s hope that was enough, because we are beyond out of time,” Tony mumbled to himself. Tony didn’t even stumble as he moved away from the computer and picked up the giant gun Clint’s eyes had completely skipped over in favor of staring at Bucky and that stupid chair.

“Gotta work fast, sounds like they’re about to break through. Watch my back, Hawkeye” Tony murmured, his fingers working furiously on fine tuning the device before he was setting it on his shoulders and aiming.

The metal reinforced lab doors were starting to buckle, and Clint snarled, turning to watch the door as he drew his bow. No. They were finishing this. This would not be for nothing. Clint wouldn’t let it be for nothing

“Tony-“ Clint started in warning, but he was cut off by a blinding white light, his stomach lurching as his vision completely whited out. His hearing went out next, and all he could feel was vertigo, a swirl of light and the absence of sound and the feeling of his feet going out from under him.

And then, it stopped.

Clint let himself sit still on the ground for a few moments, absorbing the blessing that was stillness. After a beat, he flexed his fingers, before he slowly opened his eyes. He tilted his head to the side, glancing over at Tony, who was no longer in his Iron Man suit, and lying flat on his back. Clint squinted at him, before he suddenly jerked his head towards the door, remembering the looming presence of their intruders.

But they weren’t there.

Not only that, but at some point in his trip, the lab had left lockdown and the sirens outside of the lab had stopped. There were no Hydra agents to be seen, no explosions rocking the building. He turned his head back to Tony, who was now twitching his feet as he laid out on the ground.

“Hey, are you dead Stark?” he asked loudly, and Tony groaned next to him, finally shifting and propping himself up on one elbow.

“No, but I’ve got one killer headache,” Tony grumbled, rubbing his temple. Clint could empathize, but not now. Not when he had to know, but was too scared to look. His heart was beating somewhere near his throat, and he wanted to hear it, he didn’t want to see it, not yet.

“Tony, did it work?” he asked as steady as he could. But Tony didn’t get the chance to answer.

“Did what work?”

Tony froze where he was rubbing his head. Clint watched as a multitude of emotions passed over his face, before he turned slowly to face Steve, who was standing in the doorway to his lab, holding a plate of sandwiches in his one hand and his sketchpad in the other. Steve seemed to be confused and mildly amused by the sight of the two of them laying on the ground, but more importantly than that, it was very clear that he was _there_ and _alive_.

He gently set the plate down on the closest desk to him, and shook his sketchbook at Tony a little sheepishly.

“Is it, uh, a bad time to come and sit with you?” he asked softly, and Tony let out a tiny wounded sound that made Steve quirk his head to the side with confusion like a puppy.

Tony stood on wobbly legs and stumbled a few feet forward, Steve’s expression morphing into concern as Tony let out another choked sound. He threw himself the rest of the way forward at Steve, his arms coming up to cling around Steve’s neck. Steve dropped his sketchpad to catch Tony, holding Tony to his chest instinctively.

“Tony? What happened?” Steve demanded, but Tony just shook his head, leaning back to kiss him messily. Steve let out an embarrassed sound, his eyes flickering to Clint, but Clint was already turning away from them, because he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to know, he had to look, so he did.

It was almost like everything had been put back in its place before all of this had started. No chair to be seen, no machine, and Steve was here. It had worked perfectly.

  
Perfectly, because Bucky was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_Czechoslovakia, February 1944, 2300_

_Bucky was sure he was as good as dead when his vision was whited out by light. He had made his peace with dying in the war when he was first deployed. He only wished Steve didn’t have to see it; he never wanted Steve to see something like that, even if he now had all the responsibility that came with being Captain America._

_So when the light faded and he heard the sharp clang of Steve’s shield cracking against the skull of the Hydra soldier holding the machine, he didn’t even hesitate to throw himself directly into the fray. He wasn’t going to waste his second chance wondering why he wasn’t dead._

_After the battle was over, and all suspicious technology was destroyed, Steve clasped his shoulder tight and shook him gently, levity waring with lingering fear in his bright blue eyes. But Bucky knew Steve didn’t need platitudes, so he nudged him with his shoulder and shot him a grin._

_And they continued on._

_***_

_Bucky began dreaming of a city skyline backlit by a crimson sunset, the wind in his hair as he sat on a ledge. Sometimes there was a dog. Sometimes he was alone. But he felt peace when he dreamt of that place, somewhere high up, where he was safe._

_He dreamt of machines he couldn’t fathom and a home so big, he got lost in it. He heard strains of songs he couldn’t place, and thought of stories he couldn’t ever remember hearing._

_He dreamt of a woman with red hair, of a metal suit, a hammer. He dreamt of being poked and prodded; those usually ended up being nightmares._

_But most often, he dreamt of short blond hair and blue eyes on a face he couldn’t ever see clearly. He heard laughter and felt affection that was so familiar yet completely foreign. He tasted lips that were bitten and felt stubble scrap his mouth. He dreamt of bows, and lust, and friendship, and love, all for a man he couldn’t place._

_He had thought it was Steve. Imagine his surprise when Bucky’s first instinct after being awoken by him from a dream of the faceless man was to lean up and kiss him. Impulsive, but Bucky was trying to chase the feeling, no matter how wrong it was supposed to be. Nothing like what he felt in his dreams could be that wrong._

_But Steve didn’t feel right. It was awkward, stilted, didn’t feel like comin’ home, just felt like kissin’ family. Steve was bright red and uncomfortable, and Bucky felt similarly. He chocked it up to being disoriented, made a lewd joke about a dream he was having, which wasn’t necessarily a lie, and Steve let it go. Just like that._

_Bucky decided to let his dreams be dreams, even if every ounce of himself was screaming at him to open his eyes and look._

_***_

_When he fell, it took what felt like ages to hit the ground. He knew he would always remember the expression on Steve’s face when he couldn’t catch his hand. He knew he would always remember the hopelessness he felt as he watched the train continue speeding onwards._

_And he fell and he fell and he fell._

***

“This is ridiculous.”

Clint wasn’t sure why he was speaking aloud, knowing that there was no one there to hear him, but he couldn’t bear to sit in his room in silence. Taking out his aids and breathing used to be such a comfort, a way to center himself, but now he couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand not being able to hear the restless movement of someone shifting on his bed or on his couch. And when his aids were out, he couldn’t stand the lack of touch and heat against his side of on his back. It was all too much, the absence became suffocating.

“It’s been a week. A whole week. Why am I still-“ Clint cut himself off with an angry grunt as he pushed himself up and bent over to rest his elbows on his knees. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed.

The team debrief had been hell. Not because he had had to say anything, but because he had to sit there and know that none of them knew. If Tony wasn’t the one filling the team in on what had happened, he was sure he would be half convinced he had dreamed the whole thing up.

That, and if there weren’t still bruises littering his neck.

They stung in a bittersweet way as Tony explained his theory on why it was only he and Clint that remembered anything that had happened. God, he had become a theory. It made his head hurt.

“Clint and I were directly involved with the blast, so it probably made a pocket of energy around both of us and Bucky to protect us from the sudden change in the timespace. It seemed though that it was attempting to protect organic material, which is why Katniss and I still have all of our stress wrinkles and memories from the past year. It’s a good thing we scrambled his memories as a precaution because he definitely would’ve remembered.”

Bruce had looked intrigued, Thor delighted, if a bit sad he couldn’t witness the ‘magic’ himself, while Natasha held her same neutral expression. Steve looked torn between grief and unbearable relief that it was over. It was probably due to the fact that Tony kept lingering at Steve’s side, his expression light but tight at the edges. Clint knew as soon as they were dismissed that Tony had been able to reaffirm that he had Steve back, that he could touch him and hold him and apologize for whatever he needed too.

And Clint was glad that he could, and yet he couldn’t quite squish the bitter jealous he felt about it. He hated how… unfair it all felt. It was childish in and of itself, which made Clint even more angry that he couldn’t stop himself from feeling it.

He had tried getting drunk for the first few days just to avoid it, but after the third day, the appeal of numbness outgrew the irritation of being severely hungover. If he couldn’t drink Bucky gone, he was going to try and sleep him gone instead.

Clint brushed his fingers over the fading marks on his neck before he stood up from his bed and rubbed the side of his face. He had been through so much more than this, lost so much more, so he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t bouncing back yet, why the ache of loss kept lingering. It wasn’t like he thought Bucky would be able to stay, they both knew he couldn’t but… all the same, Clint couldn’t help but feel like he was missing something.

He stumbled into the bathroom, rubbing at his greasy hair. He could probably use a shower, but he had a feeling if he got in, he wouldn’t want to get out, so he just rubbed at his red rimmed eyes and splashed some water on his face. The self-imposed vigil he was going through exposed all the other little cracks that had been present before Bucky came in and kicked his ass into gear, and he had no idea how he was supposed to do everything again.

But he didn’t have to do everything again. He had gotten better at managing his nightmares, was able to come down from panic attacks easier, felt more confident as an agent. And not all of that was from Bucky, hell, not even most of it. It was the time, and the support that everyone had given him in the tower. Even Lucky. He could get passed this, he-

He suddenly froze, his fingers stilling in his towel and what tiny surge of hope he suddenly felt was doused by the name. Lucky. _Lucky._

“Fuck fuck fuck, how could I have forgotten?” Clint said suddenly, shame and guilt and fear roiling in his gut. Not only was Bucky gone, but Lucky was gone too. Of course Lucky was gone, because he had been Bucky’s dog. If Bucky hadn’t insisted, then…

Which meant Lucky was going to be hit, and Clint wouldn’t be there. He’d… he’d die.

That wasn’t an option.

He was sliding on a thin jacket and slippers before he could think, demanding for JARVIS to take him to the ground level to let him out. It had been over a year since they had rescued Lucky, but he could still remember the place. He remembered the surprise and the rush of adrenaline when he saw Lucky get hit the first time, and he wanted to prevent that this time. He really did.

But there was a chance he was too late, considering the time of night. He didn’t know the exact time he and Bucky were out, he didn’t even know if the day was correct, but he had to at least try. Clint wasn’t sure what he would do if he made it only to find that Lucky had bled out on the side of the street, or that someone else had picked him up or that he had missed the date by miles wide.

He knew he must look like an insane person running in just his jacket and boxers, trying not to stumble into people as he rushed forwards. Just as he was getting close, he heard the tell tale sound of screeching tires and a sickening thud that had his heart lauching directly into his throat. In the back of his mind, he marveled at his timing, so close, yet not close enough to save Lucky, but it as pressed to the back of his mind. He pushed himself harder, forcing himself to weave in and out of traffic to get to where he had found Lucky the first time.

Finding the dog hit the first time had been tough; the blood and the whimpering had made Clint uneasy. But knowing what Lucky meant to him now, knowing that Lucky was Bucky’s, had nauseating tears burning his nose. He knelt down next to Lucky and took in a shuttering breath. He remembered vaguely the fight Bucky had gotten into while he was picking up Lucky, but he was hoping he could avoid it completely as he scooped the dog up into his arms. He wasn’t sure if he was up for something like that, not now, not when he was feeling so… breakable.

God, who even was he at this point.

“’S okay Lucky. I know how this ends. You’re gonna be just fine, boy,” Clint murmured, trying not to think of the slickness he could feel soaking into his thin jacket. He shuddered, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the circumstances, or because of the cold.

He forced himself to jog in his slippers towards the vet. This time, when they took the dog and they asked if it was his, he didn’t hesitate to say yes.

Clint knew that Lucky would be fine. He had been through this before. But without Bucky there to rib him awkwardly in that acquaintance like way he did, he could think only of what Lucky must be going through, and the fact that Bucky wasn’t there at all. Two completely different stings that made him his stomach writhe uncomfortably.

He was relieved, of course he was, when Lucky was released into his care, and he couldn’t help but hold the dog as tight to him as he could as he slowly walked home. When it was he and Bucky bringing Lucky home, they had been running on endorphins and delight, but all Clint could think about was how close he had come to missing Lucky, and how wrong it felt to have saved him by himself.

When he stepped onto his floor, he didn’t even bother making a nest for Lucky; he just gently laid the injured dog on his bed and sank to his knees beside his bed. He pillowed his face on his arms and sighed into them, hating the way he noticed that the sheets didn’t smell right, and they hadn’t smelt right for a week now. 

His throat was burning, but it burned so often now, that Clint didn’t think much of it. He was sure he could ignore it and sleep it off like usual, but out of the blue, he felt a wet lick on the side of his face, and he looked up in surprise. Lucky had moved his head just enough to get his nose next to his face. His one unbandaged eye looked at him sleepily, and all of a sudden Clint choked on a sob.

He fumbled for his aids, ripping them out and flinging them away. He didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want to hear himself shudder and sob and make a mess because it was pathetic, unnecessary. He was sure the only reason he was crying now was because he was tired, but knowing didn’t stop the embarrassing tears.

He knew Bucky would give him such shit if he saw him doing this, make some smart ass remark about his proclaimed nerves of steel, and Clint let out a chuckle that he was sure didn’t sound half as amused as he was feeling.

Lucky weakly licked him once more and Clint shoved his face into his sheets, rubbing Lucky’s flank as he did so. He would sleep, and in the morning, he could take care of Lucky. It had helped before, it would certainly help again. And now that Bucky was… he’d be even more busy. It would be good. Fine.

Perfectly fine.

***

Clint woke the next morning with an awful crick in his shoulders and back that he knew he had no one but himself to blame for, but felt pissed about anyways. He grumbled a little as he gingerly stretched himself out, wincing at how hot and puffy his face felt as well. He fuckin’ hated crying, it was such a pain in his ass.

Lucky was awake, looking at him with his one eye, much more alert than he had been the day before. Clint couldn’t help but smile a little bit, even if he also felt like a giant open wound at the moment. Disgusting.

“Let’s get you taken care of, huh boy?” Clint said fondly, before he paused. “Well… I guess maybe I should’ve gotten some things to take care of you first,” Clint said, huffing at his annoying but par for the course lack of insight. He gently pet Lucky’s side before making the walk of shame to pick up his aids from where he had flung them the night before.

He walked into his living room to find his tablet so he could get to picking out a bed for Lucky off the internet, before he stopped dead in his tracks.

Already set up on his sofa was a giant dog bed holding an array of different high-end dog toys and treats. It was taking up most of the couch, along with a few puppy pads, and bowls. Clint wasn’t exactly sure what he was seeing for a few moments as he stood and stared.

It had to of been Tony. Tony was the only one who could possible know about Lucky, whether through JARVIS or his own intuition, and aside from that, he was the only one who would buy half of this expensive crap. He suddenly felt a hot surge of embarrassment that took a quick turn to anger.

He was in the elevator and demanding to be taken to Tony before he even figured out what he was going to say in the first place. He was sure if he wasn’t already on a hair trigger from the stress of last night he would know how much of an ass he was behaving, but in the moment, he didn’t care. He was angry, angry and he needed to do something with it, goddamn it. Clint wasn’t surprised to see that he was dropped off in front of Tony’s workshop, and he didn’t hesitate to shove the doors ope with more force than necessary.

Tony was blaring music, and surprisingly, Steve was nowhere to be seen. All the better, because Clint really didn’t want to hash it out with Tony’s biggest fan running interference.

“Tony!” he shouted over the music. Tony didn’t flinch or jump, just continued working and muttering to himself. Clint rolled his eyes.

“JARVIS cut, the music,” Clint demanded, and immediately the sound cut out. That got Tony’s attention.

He slumped in his seat before he sat back up, starting to turn. “Damnit Steve, it isn’t considered a bender until at least 32 hours have passed, we’ve been over this- you’re not Steve,” Tony said, suddenly more alert. Clint looked at unamused.

“You wouldn’t say. What gave it away? My roguish good looks?” Clint asked dryly, and Tony snorted.

“I mean, you both _do_ have got that blond hair blue eye thing going on, so you couldn’t really blame me if I did happen to mistake you two-“ Tony said, and Clint shook his head, throwing his hands up. This was not what he was here for, and he didn’t want to be interrupted, not now.

“Look, whatever you’re gonna say, I don’t care,” Clint interrupted. “But you have got to stop with all of this… this… damn pity you keep shoving at me,” Clint said, glaring as Tony had the gall to attempt to look innocent, which he was absolutely awful at.

“I… would say I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you look like your two seconds away from kebabbing me, so I’ll just jump right into the explanation,” Tony said, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. Clint crossed his arms and Tony watched him with a neutral expression for a moment, before he looked away.

“Okay. The truth? I’ve been… keeping an eye on you. Or, well, JARVIS is,” Tony began, before he held up his hand as Clint opened his mouth angrily. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay! This was a lot, and you know how Cap gets when we miss breakfast or some dumb shit, and I really didn’t want to have to deal with his mopey face if you fell down a flight of stairs because you stopped eating or sleeping or something,” Tony said defensively and Clint snorted.

“Speaking from experience?” Clint snarked, and Tony rolled his eyes.

“Besides the point. Anyways, JARVIS alerted me when you left the Tower so I… I tracked you through the secrutiy camera’s to make sure you weren’t doing anything… stupid,” Tony said carefully, and Clint tried to ignore the caution in Tony’s tone. “When I saw you were going to get your dog well I… I thought you’d probably need some supplies, and since you were probably tired from staying out to take care of your dog, I, being generous, decided to get your stuff for you. So. There. That’s why,” Tony said, gesturing in the vague direction of Clint. Clint’s face grew pinched.

“I don’t want your pity toys, Tony,” Clint repeated lowly, and Tony’s lips thinned a little bit. Clint almost felt bad, but with how shit he had been feeling anyways, it didn’t make much of a difference to him.

“It’s not pity, Clint, god, do you think I’m capable of it?” Tony asked. “Charity maybe, I am a philanthropist after all, but Clint, all this? It’s not pity,” Tony said firmly. Clint looked at him neutrally and Tony sighed.

“I just… I know a thing or two about… about losing people. When Steve-“ he cut himself off by biting his cheek, before he sighed and pressed on. “ I had something to keep me going. I knew if I worked hard enough then… then I’d get him back,” Tony said quietly, his fist clenching together against the tops of his thighs. “But I also know how hard it would’ve been to do, well, anything, if I didn’t have that… that hope, that knowledge. And I know you would’ve shot me in the ass if I had hired you a maid or something to wash your socks so I thought I’d help out with the dumb dog. It was the least I could do, after… ya know, everything,” Tony said, looking at him steadily. Clint stared back, his arms still crossed tightly across his chest.

He hated that Tony could see through him. He hated that he wasn’t convincing anyone that he was handling this the way he should be handling this, but he hated even more that Tony knew exactly what had happened between him and Bucky. He was sure Nat had guessed, but no on else knew. But Tony? Knew at least most of the gritty details. It set him on edge.

And then Tony was sighing, his shoulder’s drooping just a touch as he ran a hand through his hair. “Listen, Clint, if you don’t want the stuff, I’ll send it back, or give it away or something, I don’t really care I just… you know you aren’t alone right? I know Widow would make time for you and… if you ever wanted to talk about that year, I wouldn’t mind attempting to listen. Or, I don’t know, downing kiddie grape juice while you get smashed again. You just… you don’t gotta do this alone, okay?” Tony said carefully, and Clint wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.

He and Tony were never particularly close, not even when he invited him to his fancy new tower, not some much after. Besides the occasional shit talking and upgrades Tony bestowed upon him, they didn’t interact much. No heart felt conversations or talking about the past. He wasn’t sure why else Tony would suddenly take an interest in him like this. There was something weird about getting a pep talk like that from someone who wasn’t Steve or Bruce. And as much as Clint was embarrassed that he even needed it, he was relieved at the same time.

But maybe they were close in their own way. In a way that was just enough for Clint right now. And as much as he hated that Tony knew everything, he was so unbelievably glad he knew too. Because having Tony look at him like that, like he lost something, meant that he had been real. That Tony knew exactly what had happened and Clint would never have to explain what he had. And somehow, that made it better as much as it made it worse.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to Indian give, Stark, you greedy son of a bitch,” Clint said, instead of thank you, because he’d only say thanks to that cocky son of a bitch if either he or Tony were on their death beds.

Tony grinned in response, any tension he was still holding from their conversation melting out as he relaxed himself in his chair. “Then don’t bitch about my gifts if you don’t want me to take them out. Someone out there would kill for some free puppy stuff,” Tony said, as he threw his arms behind his head. Clint rolled his eyes, not feeling better, but at least less angry, the roiling in his stomach pushed down once more to be dealt with later.

“Yeah yeah, whatever, I’ve got more important things to do than listen to ya dick around, Stark,” Clint said as he turned his back, feeling Tony grinning behind him.

“Weren’t you the one that came to harass me?” Tony asked, his voice shit eating, and Clint flipped him off without stopping.

Just as he reached the entrance to the workshop, he heard Tony speak up behind him.

“And, whenever you’re ready, just… let me know when you want back in the field. I’ll pull some strings… you won’t have to go through that eval again. You shouldn’t have to,” Tony said quietly. Clint felt himself freeze, before he let out a small sigh of relief. The other perk of having Tony Stark on your side; his inability to give a shit about hacking highly secure information illegally.

“Got a dog to nurse back to health, Stark,” he said, almost impatiently instead of doing something embarrassing like crying. He heard Tony grunt behind him with annoyance, before the telltale sound of the chair squeaking alerted him to the fact that Tony was going back to work.

“But… I’ll let you know. When it’s safe to leave Lucky behind,” Clint said. He left before he could hear what Tony had to say in response.

He had had one too many weirdly serious conversations with Tony Stark to last him a lifetime.

***

Clint was able to avoid Natasha for all of two months. Had Natasha not been getting hit with mission after mission, Clint was sure it wouldn’t have worked. But it was just his luck Natasha genuinely didn’t have the time to chase Clint down. It was just enough time that the initial sting of loss had settled into a dull ache that he could ignore. Mostly. It helped that he had Lucky. It normalized things a little for him, even if he couldn’t quite stop himself from looking for Bucky the first time Lucky was able to stand on his own.

Nat cornered him on his own floor, which meant it was about to get extra serious for him. Natasha valued her space, so she made a point of giving Clint his. Unless he did something dumb, and to be fair, it was kind of dumb to avoid Natasha. There was a reason he was the resident dumbass.

He was gently brushing Lucky’s fur behind his ears to make sure there weren’t any mats forming when Natasha materialized in his field of vision. He startled a little bit, and Lucky’s head jerked away from his brush. Clint scowled.

“C’mon, you of all people should know not to sneak up on a-“ Clint began, before a flash of de ja vu tingled through him and he suddenly choked on his words and a vision of Bucky. Bewildered and sheepish with his wrists caught in Clint’s hand. He forced himself to swallow the feeling it sent racing through him  down. Natasha stared at him as he composed himself, her expression blank.

“What do you want?” Clint tried instead after he had recovered his voice. Natasha raised one eyebrow slowly. It would’ve been condescending on anyone else.

“Something happened,” Natasha said. “Something during that time that I don’t remember,” Natasha continued when Clint feigned ignorance.

Clint tensed immediately at the reference against his will, and he cursed because of course Natasha picked up on it, it was practically her job. He knew he could try and lie, but Natasha would know, and it was pointless.

“I… well, a lot of stuff happened,” Clint said vaguely. He couldn’t look Natasha in the eye as he continued, “I mean, ya know, I was stuck in the tower a lot and you were gone and Bucky was stuck here with me too and so, I knew him real well-“

“You loved him,” Natasha said, cutting across him. Clint wasn’t surprised persay, but he wasn’t pleased to hear it aloud.

“Nah, I don’t do feelings, Nat, you know that,” Clint said, and Natasha finally crouched down next to him. He was hit in the face with the smell of her shampoo, and to his embarrassment, he felt immediately like crying a little bit.

“I know,” Natasha said matter of factly. “That’s why it was important.”

Clint didn’t turn to face her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not,” she replied, before she cupped the back of his neck and pulled him into a hug. He went easily, hiding his face in her hair and just breathing. Her hand was steady on his neck, and she didn’t press anymore, but she knew. She knew, and even if he didn’t want to talk about it, it was better.

His eyes were dry and clear when he pulled away, and her mouth quirked up just a little bit as her eyes flickered to Lucky.

“And this is?” she asked, her hand scratching gently behind Lucky’s ears. Lucky, the giant attention whore, rolled slowly to expose his belly and Clint snorted.

“Lucky, who apparently likes to act like no one gives him any attention. Asshole,” Clint said affectionately, and Natasha’s smile grew a little.

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Natasha said, and Clint rolled his eyes.

“If I recall, you were the one to track me down,” Clint protested and Natasha gave him a dull look.

“If you weren’t sulking, I wouldn’t have had to follow you in the first place,” she said, and Clint sputtered.

“I was not _sulking._ Tony _sulks_. I brood, thank you very much,” Clint retorted, grinning when Natasha snorted and continued scratching Lucky’s belly.

As much as he was hated digging things up again, a part of Clint was glad Natasha was here. Stark could offer all he wanted to but there was something comforting about having Nat there that made it suddenly easier to breath.

***

The next time he was awoken by the sound of the sirens indicating an attack on the tower, enough time had passed that he was cleared for duty again, and Lucky was healed up enough that he looked like a brand new dog. He looked for Bucky less, and when he did, it hurt less when he wasn’t there.

He had a feeling it was because he was doing so many S.H.I.E.L.D missions with Natasha. He could blow off steam with Nat just like they used to do before they picked up the Avengers gig. It was comforting in its familiarity

That, and he sometimes took Tony up on a drink. After the first few times, Clint stopped gunning for smashed and settled for lightly buzzed. Tony rarely drank anything stronger than juice, but he knew a thing or two about picking up his sloshed friends. Before Tony dug into S.H.I.E.L.D.’s data base and got his file cleared, it was the only way he could blow off some steam that wasn’t shooting arrows by himself on the range.

It wasn’t perfect, but he was okay.

Until now.

He was wondering just what the hell could possibly be coming for the tower now that they weren’t harboring a time sick soldier that definitely shouldn’t have been there. He couldn’t help but feel annoyed at the idea of having to get out of bed to beat down a B-rated villain that was stupid enough to launch an attack at the tower.

“JARVIS, where’s the action,” Clint asked as he snatched up his bow and quiver, the fog of sleep already whisked away by a sudden surge of adrenaline.

“It would appear there was been a breach into the tower through Sir’s and Captain Roger’s floor,” JARVIS replied coolly, and Clint’s eyebrows rose a little bit, before he picked up his pace, skipping the elevator and taking the stairs as quick as he could.

He burst onto Tony and Steve’s floor with his bow draw, his sharp eyes picking apart a thousand minute details that he processed all within the space of a second.

The smoking hole in the side of the tower that exposed the inside of Steve and Tony’s room to the outside. The flash of gold and red as Iron Man attacked targets outside of the tower. Steve, going head to head with some freakishly strong man with a metal arm and mask that covered the bottom of half of his face.

Steve grunted as the masked assailant landed a fierce kick to his chest, sending Steve crashing back against the far wall with a thud. Clint felt a shiver of anger at the dazed look Steve was trying to shake due to the surprise of the blow. Clint drew an arrow from the quiver and took aim.

“Hey! Terminator! Anyone tell you it’s rude to break and enter before seven a.m? Get with the program man!” Clint said as he quickly tried to figure out the best way to take the man down while making sure no one else got injured. As he thought frantically, the masked figure turned his gaze towards Clint, and he couldn’t stop a shudder from shaking him slightly and throwing off his train of thought. Those eyes… they were so blank, dull. It reminded him of the look Nat had when they first met, when he was supposed dispose of her. This man would kill them all if he was given the chance. But if there was one thing Clint was good at, it was this, and he never missed.

“I’ll give ya one chance to turn your metal ass around and beat it before I start stickin you in places you’d rather I didn’t,” Clint said easily. The man didn’t react to his words, but he did step forward, the muscles in his shoulders bunching menacingly as he pulled back his metal arm and nope, nope, that wasn’t going to work. If Steve had been winded by one hit, he couldn’t imagine what it would do to his very unenhanced human body.

He let the arrow fly, a warning shot that clipped the side of the man’s mask. But it did not deter the man and Clint flipped backwards, reaching for something with a little more umph, pulling out an exploding arrow prototype and sending it flying towards the masked man’s chest. The explosion sent the man flying back, skidding as he dug his metal hand into the ground to steady himself.

As the man looked up at him, his mask slid off of his face, and suddenly, it felt as if all of the air was sucked out of the room. Somewhere to his right, he heard Steve suck in a gasp of air that Clint just couldn’t quite manage.

“Bucky,” he said, stunned, and heard the name echoed from Steve as the other man stumbled to his feet. Bucky’s eyes slid from Clint’s to Steve, and for a split second, Clint was sure there was recognition and confusion, but the look faded before Clint could confirm that he saw it.

“Who’s Bucky?”

***

The fight had been pretty anticlimactic after that for something so important.

He and Steve sat in the conference room in similar states of shock as the remaining avengers waited for Natasha, who was suspiciously late for a code red call. Clint couldn’t process how Bucky could be here when he remembers sending him back. He was sure Steve was thinking something along similar lines.

When she did arrive, her expression was grave, and Clint knew that this majorly fucked up situation was going to twist the knife just that little bit more.

“Great! Now that you’re done prancing around with your mistress organization, maybe we can start to figure out what the hell happened today,“ Tony said, his voice tight and sarcastic as he hovered over Steve’s shoulder. Natasha didn’t even spare him a glance.

“Fury is dead,” Natasha said firmly, still standing, and Tony paused at that, his eyes wide. That shocked Steve enough into looking up at her, his expression troubled.

“Dead as in-?” Steve asked carefully, his expression somber. Clint wanted to ask what the hell Fury is dead was supposed to mean, but Natasha just grimaced with understanding.

“Assassinated. By the Winter Soldier, according to the surveillance cameras,” Natasha said. “And I’m guessing that’s also who came to give you a visit?” Natasha asked, and Steve paled, his fingers tightening into fists where they laid on the table.

“How could Bucky be the Winter Soldier? He’s…. he’s supposed to be dead,” Steve said, sounding defensive and lost, and Clint couldn’t help but flinch a little. Natasha’s eyes narrowed

just a touch, before her expression cleared.

“I knew him,” she said simply, her expression carefully blank. Words seemed to fail Natasha for a moment under the questioning gaze of the other Avengers in the room, and that was enough for Clint to pick it up.

Bucky must’ve been one of Natasha’s handlers. The thought made him feel ill. Natasha locked eyes with him from across the room, and he knew instantly that she knew. There was something like fear and sadness there that startled Clint. Clint broke the stare off first.

Jesus Christ. How the hell was this happening. There was no way that thing was Bucky. He knew Bucky. He knew him well enough to know he didn’t just kill like that, especially not Steve. Especially not…

When he sent him back, Clint knew he would die, but this seemed like a worse fate. It made his gut twist with something close to guilt, even though he knew there was no other option.

“Okay, well, Barnes has visited this century before, this isn’t so out of the ordinary, is it?” Tony asked, and Clint’s expression soured further.

“I dunno Tony,  I’m thinkin’ this is just a touch different considering last time Bucky had both arms and a personality,” Clint snarked out, and Tony held up his hands.

“Point,” he conceded, before he startled a little when Steve slapped a hand down on the table, his expression ridged, all confusion and despair carefully hidden.

“That doesn’t matter. Not now. Right now, we need to find him, and bring him into our care. We can’t let… _them_ keep him. Use him,” Steve said firmly, and Clint immediately nodded began to nod his head.

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to the side. “We’re on our own on this one. S.H.I.E.L.D. can’t be trusted. There must be double agents riddling the whole organization. Nothing is safe there,” Natasha said, and Tony let out a chuckle that held no humor.

“Real glad we kept them out of our business when he was here the first time, then,” Tony said under his breath, and Clint rubbed the back of his neck aggressively, wondering if maybe that was how Hydra had kept such a good eye on them before, even if they weren’t expressly involved in Bucky’s situation.

Steve stood suddenly, his eyes hard. “Nat, you and I are going under cover, do some investigating. Tony, Bruce, you find out whatever you can about the Red Room and the… the Winter Soldier. Anything. Clint-“ and Steve paused. Clint met his gaze fiercely, tilting his chin up. If Steve was thinking about taking him out of this one for some sort of stupid ass reason like he was too close to the problem or that he wasn’t ready for a mission this high stakes, he was gonna shove his shiny shield up his ass.

“Clint, you’re with Nat and I,” Steve finished, and Clint nodded once sharply, and met Natasha’s gaze. She looked at him steadily, before she turned away, Clint rose to join her. There was no time to delay.

***

The Asset was frustrated. It had been wiped many times. It could tell because of the ache just behind its eyes, irritating and distracting. It had a feeling it may have something to do with its mission.

Its mission was annoying, and distracting, and it was going to enjoy completing this one. It usually didn’t like going back to sleep, feeling useless, but it would enjoy the silence after all of the confusion this mission was causing him.

The Asset was simple. It had a job. It did the job and then it slept. If it did a poor job, it was wiped, or punished. This mission was not simple, and that angered it. As much as it could feel anger.

But perhaps, the Asset was angrier at itself. It had chased his mission, had finally gotten its mission right where it wanted him. His mission pleaded with it, but many had pleaded with it, just not quite as annoyingly persistent as this mission. He wasn’t begging the Asset for his life; no, he was begging it for Bucky. Just the sound of the name caused an agonizing scrape at the back of its skull. The longer his mission danced around it, played games where he didn’t fight the Asset, didn’t want to hurt the Asset, the more frustrated it became.

And then, finally, it had the mission down, bleeding, broken, perfect for taking out.

But the Asset couldn’t do it.

The Asset couldn’t complete its mission.

Something was wrong.

The plane was crashing, but the Asset would survive.

Its mission, however, might not. And that… that felt wrong.

Its mission was wrong.

For the first time since the Asset could remember, its mission was… wrong.

The Asset drug its mission to the shore. It stared down at its mission, taking in his barely moving chest. He was toeing the edge of death, but there was nothing else the Asset could do. What it did know was that it could not go back. It could not complete its mission, and this time, for the first time, the Asset wondered if maybe its handlers were wrong.

It refused to go back. Not until it knew _why._

Rebellion was new to it.

Suddenly, there was a piercing sound next to its ear, and it went to avoid it, but it had been too distracted by its mission. It was too slow, slow and clumsy and not the way the Asset was traied to behave.

It turned around, its hand coming up to pull free the large dart stuck there. Its eyes locked with another blue eyed blond-haired man. Not its mission, but close to its mission. He watched the Asset with a heavy expression, his bow drawn as its vision suddenly blurred. It tipped, falling to the ground with a thud.

The last thing the Soldier saw as its vision went black was the sight of his mission breathing shallowly on the shore, and it felt _relief._

***

Jesus Christ.

It really _was_ Bucky.

Clint had known that, deep down, but hadn’t wanted it to be. Especially when Tony and Bruce had uprooted all the history behind the Winter Soldier. The brainwashing, the cryofreezing, the assassinations…

It was all so real, too close to what Clint had been through. He never wanted that for Bucky, never, and yet he watched as Hydra broke him down, until he was the obedient soldier they wanted him to be.

Clint wanted to be sick.

He had wanted to be even sicker when Tony revealed the other files they had found on their hunt. Natasha made short work of exposing ever dirty secret S.H.I.E.L.D. had been hiding about Hydra or otherwise.

Including the assassination of Tony’s parents.

There was something strained about Tony, after that. Clint figured it was the fact that said murderer of his parents was set up in the Hulk safe chamber. Not only that, but his boyfriend hadn’t really moved from said murderer’s side. Clint knew he’d be a little tight too if it were him.

Yes, Clint knew it was important that Bucky was back, of course he did but it was obvious even to Clint that he wasn’t Bucky yet. Probably wouldn’t be Bucky for a long time. Which meant someone should be there for Tony, and it couldn’t be Clint, no matter how many drinking sessions they had shared together. Clint would offer, but he didn’t know how much better he would be at keeping it together to listen to offer Tony company he needed.

God, when did he become such a philanthropist?

He was having trouble sleeping, had been having trouble sleeping for a while for a number of reason, but it had gotten even worse after all of… this.

He could still remember the blank look on Bucky’s face as Clint shot him. He knew that Bucky didn’t know who he was. That if he was really Bucky and saw what had happened, he wouldn’t fault Clint for taking him out with some Hulk tranquilizer, but Clint couldn’t help but feel a sting of guilt about it.

Not only that, but he kept having these pressing nightmares about the horrors Bucky must’ve been subjected too, the images from videos that Clint wished never existed floating through his brain insistently. He couldn’t keep doing this. He had to… had to make sure Bucky was okay. Or at least, relatively okay. As okay as he could be with his head a mess like it was.

The elevator was eerily quiet as he rode down to the Hulk-proof bunker, his hands starting to sweat a little bit. He had to prepare himself for that dull look, or else it would take him by surprise, and he knew it would, every time if he let it.

He wasn’t surprised to see Steve down there, sitting in a chair and letting his head rest against the wall. Steve was staring through the clear reinforced glass wall with a blank expression, calm but only because he was hiding something more volatile behind it. Clint couldn’t tell if Bucky was awake, what with the other man’s back to the glass.

“Heya Cap,” Clint said, causing Steve to startle out of whatever reverie he was having. Steve scrubbed a hand down his face, and Clint carefully noted the stubble on his jaw and the slight oder that came from sitting in ones clothes for too many days in a row. Something Clint was very accustom too.

“Oh. Hey Clint. Just… keeping an eye out on uh… ya know,” Steve said, weakily gesturing to the glass. Clint shrugged a shoulder, nodding a little bit.

“Yeah. Uh huh. And how long have you been doing that?” Clint asked, and Steve looked away, which was really all the answer Clint needed.

“He needs me,” Steve said in leu of answering and Clint sighed, leaning back against the wall and shaking his head slowly.

“No he doesn’t,” Clint said bluntly, and Steve flinched just a little bit, turning to glare at him, but Clint met his gaze without flinching.

“How can you say that? You know what they did to him-“ Steve began and Clint shrugged, his skin crawling because yes, he did know what they did to him, but…

“I do. But he doesn’t. Not yet. He’s not ready to know, Steve. You can’t help him yet,” Clint said firmly. “When he starts getting better, maybe when he starts to remember, then you can help him by sitting by his side. But right now? You’re just hurting yourself. And… and Tony,” Clint said. Steve flinched again, but Clint was almost certain this time it was with shame.

“I-“ Steve began defensively, and Clint shook his head.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I get it. But Tony needs you right now more than Bucky does. He’s… trying his best to understand, hell, he’s housing his parents murdered right now, do you think it’d kill you to make sure he’s really okay with that?” Clint asked, and Steve lowered his eyes a little bit, biting into his bottom lip as he turned to look at Bucky through the glass. A few moments of silence passed, before Steve let out a heavy sigh and turned towards Clint.

“I know your right I just… I don’t remember when he was here the last time, I don’t want to miss him again, even if it’s… like this,” Steve said softly, and Clint felt a twinge of sympathy. He patted Steve’s shoulder gently.

“I’ll watch him for ya Cap. He was my friend too, remember?” Clint asked with a grin, and Steve finally smiled a little bit at that, as much as he could smile at the moment.

“I’ve heard some stories,” Steve said vaguely, before he put his hands on his knees and rose to his feet. He scratched the back of his neck and sniffed at his shirt, his nose wrinkling with disgust. Clint let out a bark of laughter.

“Maybe clean up before you go have some wicked thank god we’re alive sex, pro tip,” Clint called, amused when Steve rolled his eyes at him, but flushed just a touch all the same. Clint grinned, before shooing him with his hands.

Steve huffed, before he smiled a little bit and said quietly, “Thanks Clint,” before he disappeared into the elevator. Clint couldn’t help but roll his eyes at himself. God, since when had he become the local relationship counselor.

Clint let out a sigh as soon as he was alone. Or… mostly alone. His eyes slowly drifted back towards the prison cell. Bucky’s back was still to the glass, but even just the sight of Bucky’s back was a touch reassuring. He was still there and breathing. Alive.

There was something familiar in the slope of his shoulders, yet at the same time, something so different. And it wasn’t just the fact that one of his shoulders began to turn into metal halfway along it. It had something to do with the way he was holding himself. It was deadly, and Clint knew there was something definitely actually wrong with him that that sent a thrill through his body.

He had missed Bucky so much, as much as he loathed to admit how stupidly attached to him he was, more so than he ever should have been. He hated that even having him here, as much pain as it caused, was so relieving. Knowing that he was that desperate to have Bucky again made him feel sick.

He shut his eyes, tilting his head back against the wall and looking up steadily at the ceiling. He had no idea how they were going to fix this, but he would be damned if they didn’t fix this.

***

Clint leaned against one of the walls in Tony’s lab as the man hunched over his holo displays, holding some green monstrosity in his right hand, his left hand working furiously over his holo keyboard. Next to him, Steve had a big hand curled possessively around his hip. Clint thought it had to be annoying to have a giant super soldier hanging on you while you were trying to work, but Tony seemed to be leaning into it, so Clint left it alone. He was glad to see they had made up again, as much as it was mildly nauseating to see.

Bruce was also present across the room, seated at one of Tony’s work desk and scrolling through pages and pages of research. Clint knew all of this was about Bucky, and that was probably the only reason why he was down here in the fucking first place. It was like he couldn’t stay away, even though he knew he should. It would be better for everyone.

“I could try to reverse engineer whatever technology they were using to brainwash him, but I have no idea what the effects would be of trying to force him to remember again. I think there’s probably something wrong up there after so many years of… of this,” Tony mused, and Clint noted the way Steve’s grip tightened on his hip.

Bruce rolled away from the desk he was working at and rubbed a hand through his hair. “We could do the basics then. Introduce him to his past. There are tons of old Captain America reels with Bucky in them. Maybe when he’s a little better, talking to Steve might help,” Bruce said carefully. Clint grimaced slightly; he didn’t like the sound of the chances of something like that working, but he didn’t want to voice it aloud. It was all they could run on at this point, and Clint was grateful for at least something.

Steve seemed to be thinking similarly, his head bowed towards his chest for a moment before he took a deep breath. “I… okay. Thank you, both of you that’s a… a good start,” Steve said, his expression determined and fierce, and Clint couldn’t help but admire him for his sheer faith that everything would work out. Clint wasn’t holding out much hope, but he wouldn’t be the one to knock Steve down a peg. Tony seemed reluctant too, but opened his mouth all the same to say softly, “Steve… just… be realistic okay? Bucky’s been through… a lot.” Steve paused in his journey to the door, most likely to make his way back down to Bucky’s cell again. It was almost like he was going to say something in reply to Tony, but in the end he just straightened his back and tilted his chin up and continued on his way.

“You only work because you’re both stubborn shits,” Clint said after a beat had passed, earning him a sharp startled snort from Bruce and a withering glare from Tony, who just rolled his eyes.

“See if I give you any top shelf stuff again,” Tony grumbled, and Clint snickered, but clapped Tony on the back all the same. He began to move away, before he paused, hesitating for a moment. Tony picked up on it, arching an eyebrow at him and Clint shifted his feet.

“Thanks Tony,” Clint ended up saying, almost a little awkwardly, but damnit he was trying. There were too many things he couldn’t say, about how grateful he was that Tony was still trying even though he was the one out of all of them that had no reason to help. But Tony just watched him carefully with wary eyes, before he shrugged his shoulders.

“I remember him. Whatever… whatever murdered my parents wasn’t Barnes,” Tony said confidently, and something in Clint eased at Tony’s confidence acceptance, as if that made it better. It was one thing to have his best friend and previous… lover? Conquest? To vouch for a mass murdering assassin, but Tony didn’t have that with Bucky. And that made all the difference.

“Welp, if anyone can figure it out, its you two nerds,” Clint said, shaking off the sincerity of the moment, feeling way too touchy feely for his tastes. He grinned at Bruce and Tony as he threw up a peace sign and headed for the exit.

“Oh yeah, leave all the heavy lifting to us, as usual,” Tony snarked after him, and Clint grinned, turning his head back enough for Tony to see him tap his nose before he was disappearing, heading for the target range. He needed the quiet.

***

The Asset felt demeaned.

Like an insect, trapped behind glass, every motion watched carefully. It set it on edge, even if it was used to surveillance by its handlers. There was something different about the eyes that watched it that went deeper than assuring it had completed its mission.

The Asset never had to turn to know it was the mission it failed that continued to watch it so closely. The mission’s gaze was heavy in a way the Asset didn’t like. The gaze set its skin crawling, feeling vulnerable even if it knew with great confidence it would be able to perform exceptionally well to protect itself from harm. And yet, even though the presence of the mission clearly signaled its failure, some part of it felt satisfied knowing the mission still lived. The Asset couldn’t define the feeling or where it came from, but it was disconcerting.

Sometimes, the presence behind the glass changed. It couldn’t place all the differences with its back turned, but he knew each presence who came to stare felt less unsettling than the missions, but no less aggravating. It wanted to escape, bring its captors to their knees, but each time the thought forms, the mission’s bleeding unconscious face flits through its subconsciousness, and it couldn’t complete its thoughts. The Asset hated that. It had a weakness; the Asset was not made to have weaknesses, let alone one so sentimental.

It could always breathe a little easier when there was no one there. The few times it glanced behind to ensure no one was watching, it always felt easier for the Asset to think. It knew there were most likely camera’s watching its every move anyways, but cameras could only read part of it; it knew that from experience. It needed this isolation to think.

And think it did. About why it chose to run, about why it hesitated to kill its mission when the mission was making it so easy. For as long as the Asset knew of itself, it had never felt more than the drive to complete its tasks, of the pain of punishment, of the chair, and rarely, satisfaction of a good job. It knew of sentiment, what it does to some of its targets. Sentiment makes them bend easy for the Asset, but the Asset never understood what about it was so strong to overpower one’s sense of self preservation.

And it wasn’t particularly necessary for it to know until it was faced with this problem.

As much as the Asset was aware that it was merely a tool, it was also aware that one of its strongest uses was problem solving. Its intelligence felt wasted against its handlers, who he didn’t feel compelled to resist, but that didn’t mean it lacked it.

There was something going on here that it needed to get to figure out at all costs.

Time passed strangely for the Asset. It had no real use for sleep, could run for days without it, so it had no way to gauge just how much time had passed. The internal clock the Asset had kept beating out minutes and hours and days, but the Soldier had stopped counting in favor of thinking.

It wasn’t sure how long it had been kept in its cell before the opportunity to escape presented itself. It could feel that someone was behind the glass, watching it. What it wasn’t expecting was the sound of footsteps approaching the glass. It allowed its head to tilt just the slightest bit towards the presumed door.

It would be foolish to open the door. The Asset was fast, ruthless, it knew this, and it knew that its captors must know this too. It made no sense for them to risk it escaping for anything that required opening up the door to its cell. Nothing was so important, surely.

But the door did open and suddenly there was a person in its cell with it.

Every instinct in the Asset’s body screamed for it to lunge for them, to take them down by snapping their neck clinically, cleanly, or to use them as bait to escape, before killing them all and going back to his handlers.

But it wasn’t going to go back. Where exactly would it go if it could get out? Perhaps the best answers were here. Here, where the mission was, constantly watching. Would running really help it root out its weakness and purge it? And did it really want to return knowing it had failed?

The Asset easily knew the answer to the questions.

So the Asset stayed put, its back still turned firmly towards the glass and the person behind him. It stayed still long enough that the person left the cell unscathed, but they did not leave from the glass. The Asset felt something like annoyance; it would sit still to get answers, but it refused to be gawked at.

It took the person behind the glass a few tense minutes before they left, and the Asset didn’t relax, but it did turn. The Asset surveyed the boxes put behind it with little expression on its face. It tilted its head at the presence of food. It couldn’t remember the last time it ate something.

There was little point to it; it was slow and only for pleasure. It got all of it nutrients through IV preps before missions and after being unfrozen. It made more sense that way.

The Asset could tell its body was hungry, but that was the least of its worries. There were boxes, meant for it. The boxes could very well be a trap, but it wasn’t sure what exactly would be the point of trapping it again when they already had him.

It edged near the boxes, crouching down to lift the carboard flaps carefully. It blinked at the contents, its face still carefully blank as it withdrew the top item in the box.

It was a newspaper, the year marked as 1942. The Soldier stared at the date for a moment, before it let its eyes scan the words.

Steve Rogers…. Captain America… Hydra experiments… Sergeant James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes…

The Asset paused.

Its eyes traced back over the words, its metal fingers moving up to touch the name, its mouth moving to form the moniker as if it needed to taste what it was seeing and feeling.

_“Who’s Bucky?”_

The Asset’s eyes moved on to take in the picture accompanying the article. There, the Asset recognized the mission. He looked tired, drawn and dirty, but happy, his arm thrown around…

The Asset’s face twitched, an emotion it couldn’t place sweeping through it and making its stomach dip as though it were diving from a plane.

There in the picture was Sergeant Barnes… Bucky, the article claimed. And yet, the Asset, although seeing itself so little, knew that that was its countenance. It knew so little of itself that the image was almost jarring. Its fingers curled into the article subconsciously until it heard a tear, and it abruptly relaxed its fingers, surprised by the surge of don’t rip-important-protect that overwhelmed it.

The Asset carefully placed the article down and reached for the next in the box. The Asset was frustrated by its reactions to the words and the pictures. It knew there were answers here, a puzzle that just needed to be placed together, but nothing made sense yet. The Asset knew it could be patient, was good at waiting out targets for hours, days, weeks on end, but there was an impatience he had never felt before roiling in its blood.

It continued to read, absorbed in the images and the words, the dates, all of which painted the picture of a man The Asset couldn’t feel farther from.

James Buchanan Bucky Barnes was a fast talker from Brooklyn and the second in command of the Howling Commandos. Their leader was Captain America, Steve Rogers, the Asset’s mission. James Buchanan Bucky Barnes was killed in action. That should be the end of all speculation, but, if the Asset knew anything, it was how little death seemed to matter to itself in particular. It couldn’t connect the two of them, even though there were so many signs; it was just so incomprehensible to the Asset.

Suddenly, there was a blinding rip of pain at the base of its skull, wrapping around to its temples, and it brought a hand to its head. There was a flash, and suddenly-

- _it saw a scrawny little boy coughing weakly on a couch, wrapped head to toe in blankets and shuddering despite the heat that was making its shirt stick to its back with sweat. It felt overwhelming fondness and worry when it looked at the sickly boy, who just gave him a cheeky grin despite the high spots of fever on his cheeks._

_“Awh, light’n up Buck! We won’ miss the firecrackers; as if I’d stay in bed on m’ birthday,” the boy said, and it wanted to reach out and shake the boy, tell him that that wasn’t what he was worried about, but he was already so fragile, the Asset couldn’t possibly-_

And then it was back, the light fading, but the ache lingered on, right behind its eyes. It couldn’t comprehend what it had seen. Who the boy was, nor who it was supposed to be. Yet another piece it had to find a place for.

It stared at the box in front of it, trying to process what such a meaningless vision could mean and why it would follow the newspapers it had read, when something rapped on the glass.

The Asset jerked its head up instinctively, surprised that it hadn’t noticed there had been someone beyond the glass, and it immediately clammed up, face going stony as it let the articles fall from its hands. It met the man’s gaze, but only because it didn’t want to seem weak by turning away.

The Asset immediately recognized it as the man who had subdued it. And yet, the Asset felt distinctly unthreatened by the slouch of the man in front of it. The way he stuck his hands in his ratty sweatpants and the almost unthinkingly unsteady posture made the Asset wonder how he had gotten the drop on it in the first place.

“You gonna eat that? Steve’s a monster for Bruce’s ‘exotic food’ and didn’t gimme a chance to snag any,” the man complained, and the Asset couldn’t help but blink slowly, before its face froze again. The man stared at it with blue eyes that were so completely different than the mission’s that it surprised it when the Asset as those eyes in front of him that sent something just there tingling at the base of his spine.

It didn’t like it. It was even more confusing than when faced with the mission.

The man continued to stare at it, rocking on his heels slightly, before he shrugged. “’M just sayin, don’t let Bruce curry go to waste. I know yo- I think you’d probably like it, maybe,” the man stumbled, finally looking a touch unsettled. The Asset continued to stay blankly, which seemed to unsettle the man further. “But- okay, this was dumb, what the hell am I even trying to play here? As if reverse physiology would work on someone like…” the man trailed off, clearly speaking to himself, but the Asset picked it up all the same, even if it could not understand what the man was referencing.

It watched as the man straighter his posture some before he turned around and left without another word or gesture. It was finally alone again; it could pick back up where it had been, and he shoulder, it was far more important, but it couldn’t help but look down at the plate of food the man was referencing. It eyed the dish warily for a moment, before it pulled the plate closer to itself. It stared, before it used the utensil it was given to carefully spoon some of the food into its mouth. The flavor surprised it. It was spicy and warm and the taste was foreign in its mouth, yet familiar in a way that made the Asset’s temples ache.

It gripped the utensil hard enough that it snapped and the Asset shoved the bowl away from it in a fit of frustration. The bowl shattered and the soup like substance splashed up against the glass.

It moved away from the box and the mess and turned its back on the glass, resting its aching head against its knees.

It was confused. It just wanted to understand why. That was all it wanted.

It had never wanted anything before.

It hated it.

***

The Asset’s eyes shot open, and he couldn’t help but tense just a little bit. He knew it was the mission - Steve – because of the way he walked. So careful. So scared. He was scared of the Asset. Or maybe, of what the Asset could mean.

Often, he wondered just what was making the other man continuously come down and speak to him through the glass, but it was… grating.

Grating because his all his words echoed and bounced and pulled at things inside of the Asset. He could never remember a time where he was anything but the Asset, meant to take his orders and come back. It didn’t have opinions, it didn’t share sentiment, but the Asset no longer felt very much like _it_. He felt a lot of things he wasn’t sure how to process, and many of them were because of the mission he could never complete.

Today, the mission talked about home again. Home being Brooklyn, 1940s. He talked about the skyline, and the Asset could suddenly see it. He was glad it was something neutral like that for this particular day. Sometimes, the mission would recount something more personal, use the name ‘Bucky’ in a way that was so hopeful that the Asset didn’t want to see anything that might appear to him.

The Asset didn’t think he could ever be sentimental, but in the several visions he had had (flashbacks, he knows they are flashbacks, but he does not want to admit it) he always cared about the little boy, cared about his ranks of men, cared about the mission. And it was very clear in these visions, the mission cared about him too. 

The Asset also sees dirty rooms, a chair that he shudders at the sight of, anger and fury that fades into acceptance, that fades into nothing, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. With any of it.

The Asset will concede that perhaps he has some relation to this Bucky that the mission keeps talking about, but… regardless of relation, the Asset cannot be this Bucky, just as much as the Asset is sure if he were to return to his handlers, it would be hard to be just the Asset anymore.

For the first time in a long time, the Asset felt fear. He truly belonged nowhere. In searching for answers, he has isolated himself. The thought wouldn’t usually unsettle him, but now it made him feel… lost.

Perhaps that was why instead of sitting with his back turn to the mission as he talked about his home - about Brooklyn and the war and Bucky and Peggy and the Howling Commandos, all people and places he’s read and seen in his brief dreams or when something triggers an episode - he instead moves until his back hits the glass with a thud right next to where the mission is sitting. He sees him jump out of the corner of his eye, but the Asset doesn’t react, just bending his head towards his chest so his hair hides his face.

He feels those eyes on him for a long time as he pulls his knees up, feeling as though he is laying out his confusion and discomfort for his mission to see. He doesn’t like it, but it makes sense, if the mission is the one from his… flashbacks.

The decision to move closer was impulsive, perhaps erroneous; the Asset was not made to be impulsive, but he is beginning to think that maybe it doesn’t matter what the Asset was made to be.

“… There was one summer I got a pretty nasty pneumonia right after one of our campin’ trips that Ma always told us not to go out on. Was laid up on the couch for a while. I remember you- Bucky’d come over every day tryina see if I was ready to come out finally,” Steve said wistfully, chuckling a little bit. An accent slipped into his words the longer he talked with the Asset. The Asset couldn’t help but wonder why. “It was comin’ up on my birthday, just a coupla days away, and Bucky was watchin’ me, lookin’ all kinda worried. And I’m thinkin’ its cause he doesn’t wanna miss the firework show that’s on my birthday every year, so I say ‘Awh, lighten up Bucky! We won’t miss the firecrackers; as if I’d stay in bed on my birthday!’ and he says to me-“

“’M more worried your fathead won’t make it to anotha birthday,” the Asset finished automatically, the words slipping free as if he had no control over it. He could almost feel the mission stiffen next to him, and immediately the Asset feels himself jolt to attention. He turned to look at the mission for the first time since he had tried to kill him instinctively, almost against his will.

Steve was staring at him with wide blue eyes, so familiar, even when they were much too big for his tiny head, and there was the faint sheen of liquid across them that had the Asset’s gut twisting as if he had been impaled. The Asset swallowed hard, suddenly terrified. What an interesting feeling.

“Bucky?” the mission – Steve – murmured quietly, almost as if the Asset was a startled animal, and that… angered him.

The Asset pushed himself away from the glass, turning his back on the mission, on the hope and fear and joy so clear on the mission’s face. Turned his back on the fact that he knew exactly what the mission was going to say. The fact the he had figured out the puzzle, but was scared of what it meant, of what more he had to learn about what he had lost. About the many many many years he was missing, and what he had done. Bucky was a good person; the Asset, however, was not virtuous. They could not be the same, because Bucky Barnes could never live with what the Asset had done. The Asset knew that, even though he wasn’t sure how that made him feel.

The Asset cleanly blocked out the sound of the mission pleading, blocked out the sound of food being delivered, food that he always, always liked, no matter what. Just one more thing to try and figure out, just one more detail to unravel when there were so many things he couldn’t control unraveling around him. He clutched his legs and shook his head.

The Asset had his answer, but he wasn’t sure if it was better than ignorance.

***

Tony and Steve were fighting in the common room when Clint made his way down to the kitchen. He heard it as the elevator door opened and he stepped off. It gave him pause; there was literally a million things he would like more than to listen to them hiss and spit at each other before suddenly making out.

No thanks. Did they really have to bring their spats onto the common floor?

But of course, when he heard Bucky’s name, his hand paused where it was poised to call the elevator back.

“Just because he remembered one thing does not mean that Bucky is back Steve,” Clint heard Tony say furiously.

“Maybe not all the way back but there’s no way he’s… he’s like he was even just a few weeks ago. He’s remembering me Tony, and if he’s remembering me, I can’t just leave him in there like a criminal!”

“God damnit, Steve! He is a criminal! Do you think anyone cares that he ‘technically’ didn’t know any better? That he was brainwashed? All of that shit he’s done is in the open, Steve, someone is going to come looking for him and demand he answers for it if they know he’s still alive. Especially if he’s not only alive, but rubbing elbows with the supposed Earth’s mightiest heros. He’s safer where we can see him, for more than just the fact that he may or may not still be a brainwashed upgraded Ken doll and out to kill you.” Tony’s voice was angry, but behind that was fear and worry. Clint shut his eyes. 

“I could keep an eye on him,” Steve protested, and Tony scoffed, the sound sharp.

“No, Steve, you really can’t. Who knows what he’d do to get you to trust him? It isn’t safe until we make sure, and if you would just take a second and think with that beautiful stupid brain you have, I know you’d see that!”

Clint stepped on the elevator; he had heard enough. JARVIS was moving towards Bucky’s cell without having to ask. If JARVIS were corporeal, he’d kiss him.

When Clint approached the glass, he wasn’t really sure what he was thinking about. All he knew was that Bucky was in his usual position. Clint had visited less and less, and not just because it was hard to see Bucky like this, but because it reminded him too clearly of what it felt like after Loki, but more intense. Everything about Bucky was erased; at least Clint had gotten to keep part of himself after Loki, as messed up as he was. Bucky was… he wasn’t even sure if there was anything left there.

That, and he had been taking every mission he could possible just to work off some of the helplessness he was feeling. He had gotten Bucky back just to… just to realized he was never going to get him back in the first place.

Clint felt ashamed even thinking that. Bucky wasn’t lost or gone; he was right there. He just… he needed time, and patience, much like what Clint had gotten from everyone, from Bucky and Nat and Tony and everyone else in the tower. That’s what he needed, and Clint would be damned if he left Bucky stuck between two extremes like Steve and Tony.

Besides, there was something there, something there that wasn’t a brutal killing machine, that wasn’t the dutiful assassin, according to Steve. Maybe it was all an act, but Clint didn’t care; he was hopeful, for the first time in a little while.

Clint stared at the bulk of Bucky’s shoulders; Clint knew Bucky was aware of his presence, but was choosing to block him out. Well. Clint could wait him out. He was not known for his patience, but he had a feeling he’d be able to do just about anything help Bucky at this point.

He thought about taking a seat outside of the glass, but decided that wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was no walls, nor Bucky’s back, or the glass meant to protect him. He didn’t need glass to create a barrier between them. He didn’t want it.

Clint felt like maybe he should be scared choosing to step inside of a closed space with the literal definition of a story told to scare all the new recruits. But he wasn’t. He was so sure this was going to work, and if it kill him well… he tried, and that was better than running away. He wouldn’t do that, not when Bucky needed him, subconsciously or not.

Clint opened up the door and stepped inside, carefully locking it behind him before he walked over and plopped down on the floor and put his back to the glass. He huffed out a sigh and made as much noise as he possibly could, just to avoid spooking him on the off chance Bucky hadn’t heard him step into the room. The chance of that was slim, but Clint wasn’t taking any chances, not when things were as delicate as they were.

But judging by the way his shoulders were slowly rising up to his ears, Bucky had to have known he was there. It was almost like he had something to say about the fact that Clint was making a home in his space, but he didn’t want to break his vigil. Clint’s eyes roved over to the empty plate of breakfast by the new stack of boxes of articles Bruce had brought down. Clint couldn’t help but grin.

“Breakfast burritos, God’s true gift to the culinary world,” Clint said confidently. Bucky didn’t answer, but Clint didn’t expect him too. Clint pursed his lips a little bit, before he shrugged and yawned, leaning more fully into the glass. He didn’t mind being ignored, and while the glass and floor weren’t the most comfortable thing in the world, Clint could nap anywhere. It was part of the joys of running with a circus for a good chunk of his life. He’d kill for a nap right now. And what better way to pass the time out waiting the king of stubborn silences.

He found himself being to drift off, but he never got quiet to sleep. He just kinda drifted loosely between sleep and being awake. Pair that with the fact that he was technically a trained super spy, he really should’ve heard Bucky turning around to look at him. But somewhere along the way in the seventy some years Bucky had been alive, he had finally learned how to knock his obnoxiously loud footsteps down a few decibels.

Clint startled violently when he felt a metal grip on his shoulder. The first thing his eyes took in were fiery blue eyes staring down at him from behind a curtain of dark hair. Clint’s hand was immediately on the wrist before he could process his bodies movements. It moved to wrench the offending hand off on instinct, but it wouldn’t budge one bit. Clint couldn’t help but feel slightly insulted, even as he was already relaxing from the scare.

“Jeez, warn a guy. I was just trying to catch up on a few Z’s. Y’know, insomnia really isn’t as romantic as the novels make it seem,” Clint said as nonchalantly as he could manage, forcing himself to relax his body into Bucky’s almost threatening metal grip. The hand was really strange, he noted distantly, but nothing bad. It was just something new to get used to. It would probably be really handy for opening pickle jars down the road.

“What are you doing?” Bucky growled out, and Clint’s eyes widened just a touch as he looked up at him. It was the only thing he had heard Bucky say since the day of the assassination attempt on Steve. It shocked him for just a moment before he shook himself mental and forced himself to move on.

“Dude, I literally just said that I was trying to nap-“ Clint began again, and Bucky grunted with frustration, his grip tightening just a touch, enough that it was starting to hurt. Clint couldn’t help but grin a bit of a shit eating grin, because Clint wasn’t Clint unless he was making an ass of himself, even when being threatened by a super assassin.

“I mean, why are you doing that in here,” Bucky asked, his voice low and threatening. But Clint didn’t flinch from him; instead he tilted his head to the side in an mockingly thoughtful expression.

“Why wouldn’t I? I gotta tell ya, knowing there’s a super assassin watching over you really does things for night time anxiety,” Clint said, and Bucky’s face scrunches up just a touch in confusion. It was the most expressive Clint had seen him since he had arrived.

“What? That is- It is more likely that I would be the one you need protection from. You are my captor, after all,” Bucky said lowly, and if Clint hadn’t been reading the ticks in Bucky’s body language the whole time, he might’ve felt a thrill of fear.

“Nah. If you wanted to kill me, you already would’ve done it,” Clint said nonchalantly. “Bet I wouldn’t’ve even felt it.” Bucky looked surprised, his grip loosening a touch, before it suddenly shot to Clint’s throat. Clint let out a little choked sound as Bucky squeezed lightly, cutting off his air for a moment, before he relaxed, allowing Clint to breathe. Everything in Clint wanted to reach up and attempt to rip Bucky’s metal grip from his throat, but he forced himself to remain relaxed.

“You are incredibly stupid,” Bucky said, sounding mildly bewildered, and Clint grinned at him, fluttering his lashes.

“You say the sweetest things, you know that Buck?” Clint asked, and the reaction was instantaneous. Bucky jerked his hand back as if he had been burned and turned his back on Clint again, his shoulders tense. Clint subtly rubbed his neck, wondering if it was going to bruise and just how he would explain that, but it was background noise compared to the sight Bucky made crunching into himself. The name thing was really bothering him, had been the thing to bother him before, to be fair.

“Alright, so, Bucky is out. Reading that loud and clear. But, uh, just what exactly you wanna be called then?” Clint asked. Bucky tensed up as soon as Clint spoke up, before he seemed to force himself to relax, although he didn’t turn around and the tension never completely left him.

“I am the Winter Soldier,” Bucky said, but it sounded fake, dull, as if he was supposed to say it, as if it was something hard wired in, and Clint shook his head.

“No you aren’t,” Clint said, matter-of-factly, and finally Bucky was looking over his shoulder, squinting his eyes at Clint, who was sprawled out looking as relaxed as possible as he picked up an article.

“You asked me-“ Bucky began and Clint looked at him over the paper with one eyebrow raised.

“You know you aren’t too. I could tell as soon as I looked at your eyes. You’re feeling things, and it’s confusing you. Remembering things, good things and things hard to see and really really shit things. I don’t even wanna know what kinda nightmares you’re handling,” Clint said. “If you were really the Winter Soldier, I would be dead before I even finished opening the door,” Clint said, and Bucky looked unsettled and wary the longer Clint talked, but he had the distinct feeling he hit the nail on the head.

“Don’t feel bad. I’m kinda trained to be able to read a situation,” Clint said flippantly, holding the article back up to his face. He wasn’t really reading, more waiting to see if Bucky would say anything to him. He could tell that the words were upside down and he almost laughed out loud.

There were several long stretches of silence, broken only by Clint fidgeting with the article in his hands. After a few agonizing minutes, Bucky broke the silence, suddenly, making Clint jump a little bit.

“Would you tell me about him?” Bucky asked slowly, suddenly much closer than he had been and Clint was really starting to hate how quietly Bucky moved now. He peered over the paper again and watched as Bucky kneeled in front of him, his intelligent eyes glued to the picture of Steve Clint knew was on the backside of the article. Clint tilted his head to the side.

“Sure. I mean, not that I’m a Cap expert, but I could give you a crash course,” Clint said. “But,” he continued, and immediately Bucky was on his guard, turning his head away and steadying his breathing in anticipation for a fight. “Gotta gimme a name first. Feel a little weird spilling all of Cap’s dirty secrets for a guy I don’t technically know,” Clint said, and Bucky stared at him, his jaw working. Bucky looked down at the paper Clint still held in his hand, and for a moment, Clint was sure that Bucky was going to back out and shut down again.

But then Bucky took a deep breath and shut his eyes, before he opened them and looked up at Clint with an expression hard with determination. It was a look so familiar that Clint felt his breath hitching against his will.

“James. You can call me James,” Bucky – James – said finally, chewing the name out as if he was testing it and wasn’t quite sure about it yet. But that was okay, it was better than okay, because James was looking at him, trusting him, a stranger, with something like an admission.

“Alright Jimmy,” Clint began, chuckling when James wrinkled his nose subtly at the nickname. “Lemme tell you what I know about Captain America,” Clint said, rubbing his hands together. He opened his mouth, before James suddenly cut in, his expression careful.

“And what about you? I’m not sure I want information from a man I don’t know the name of,” James countered carefully, and Clint couldn’t help but feel pleased, pursing his lips on a smile that was two parts amusement, one part wistful.

“Clint Barton. Don’t wear it out.”

***

James wasn’t sure what to make of Clint Barton. He was reckless, unabashedly so, and it wasn’t just because he seemed determined to prove he wasn’t scared of him - which was stupid.

It was clear no other of his captors had this kind of devil-may-care attitude when it came to him. Many of them were wary. No, all of them were. With good reason. Every day that passed awake and away from the chair, looking at the different pieces of the past that he had… he had forgotten. (Because that’s what happened. He knows it’s what happened. He still doesn’t know what to make of it. Clint had brought in the papers, showed what news they had on what had happened, but it was still so much to wrap his head around that he tried not to think about it. He just couldn’t.)

James wasn’t sure why Clint was the way he was to James. He knew he hadn’t known Clint before. He wasn’t in any of his flashbacks, and he certainly wasn’t a frozen like he and the Captain were. But he was so damn determined to pester James. It was almost annoying. James wanted to deal with all of this alone; he didn’t want others to see the shame felt knowing he was so thoroughly violated that he still doesn’t remember important people like Steve. That he can’t be the Bucky Steve is expecting from him.

It’s part of the reason why he still kept his back to Steve. He can’t deal with that yet, not with everything else. Remembering was slow. It was painful. Clint explained why it had to be that way, that Stark and Doctor Banner had a theory that there was a chance that with enough time away from the brainwashing techniques, whatever super healing he had developed would help reroute every fragmented piece of his memory floating around in his brain naturally.

But it was so slow, and James had a feeling that no matter how much he remembers, he won’t be like he was before. He sees himself in his flashbacks, but they’re so different from him now. James is still discovering how to process feeling again. He wonders when the guilt of all of his unwilling actions will hit, wonders if it will destroy him.

Not only that, but for everyone memory of Brooklyn, of the Howling Commandos, of Steve, there were three of his seventy years as a thing meant to be used. Murders he isn’t sure how to feel about yet, the disobedience that lead to punishment, slips in his brainwashing that led to more use of the chair. That dreaded chair.

He didn’t want to talk about it, about the burning pain in his skull when he did remember, didn’t want to talk about how he’s trying to mesh the two halves of himself as they are revealed to him, yet not having the grasp on his emotions to do so properly.

But through it all, Clint was there, being a huge ass. Pestering him about stories of the war, asking him which of the many dishes he brings down are his favorite. Once, he even brought his dog. James hadn’t even been sure what to do when the dog was let into his cell, freezing up as it licked all over his face, before he came back to himself enough to put his flesh hand gently on the dog’s back, as if he might break its spine. But the dog just flopped over into his lap and let out a sigh of contentment. The dog had not feared him; it was like Clint in the idiocy of showing his stomach to him. All the same, James had slowly glided his hand through the dog’s fur, finding a strange sense of comfort in the warmth of another being on his lap. It filled James with a warm emotion, bright, brighter than anything so far.

Joy. Gratitude. He should say thank you.

And he opened his mouth to do so, but when he looked at Clint, the other man was watching them wistfully, his expression tight with something James couldn’t place. But it was gone before James could get a better look, and Clint was leaning down.

“His name’s Lucky. You ever wanna visit with him, just let me know.”

James liked when Lucky visited.

James however, did not like when Steve visited. Thankfully, Steve never tried to enter his room, not like Clint did. James wasn’t sure what he would do if Steve was in there with him, looking hopeful and demanding things from him he wasn’t sure he could ever provide. He knew Steve was important to him, and that was scary to James, who was so used to not having anyone he had to think about.

James would be content to never face Steve, if it weren’t for the fact that Clint didn’t seem as satisfied with the decision. And when Clint was bothered, he liked to voice it. Loudly and with all the subtly of a nest of angry hornets.

The other man was throwing a ball across the cell for Lucky to chase after while James watched, feeling something he would call calm, or as calm as he could be, as he watched the dog move. Lucky was nice, one of the few things he was absolutely sure he felt affection for.

“So. About Steve-“ Clint began, and James tensed immediately, staring at Lucky with a hard expression, before he turned to glare at Clint. Clint ruffled Lucky’s ears as Lucky deposited the ball yet again in between his leg before tossing the ball again and turning to face James.

“Oh, god, quit with the face, dude, I already told you I’m not intimidated by your calculating death stare,” Clint said, and James felt his face sour a little bit.

“There is nothing to say about Steve,” James said darkly, and Clint arched an eyebrow, before handing James the ball as Lucky brought it back. James carefully threw it against the back wall so it wouldn’t bounce back like it had the first time.

“Uhh, okay, I dunno if you noticed, but you have a lotta questions about the good Captain that I’m starting to not know how to answer,” Clint said, and James grimaced, handing the ball back when Lucky brought it to him this time instead.

“Then I won’t ask anymore. It is not important,” James said stonily, and Clint sputtered.

“Whoa, hold the phone there, that’s not what I was saying,” Clint said quickly, putting the ball down in favor of turning his full attention to James. James still did not want to look at him. His body felt uncomfortable and tight and he wanted Clint to drop it.

There was a beat of silence, before Clint huffed and rolled his neck.

“Alright, I won’t bring it up again,” James was unsure if this was a lie or not, “but… I think it might help you more than I can,” Clint said carefully. James did not answer him, but Clint must be used to his shifting moods, not even blinking as James shut himself off from Clint.

The other man just moved out of his space and towards Lucky, who was chewing on one of his blankets lazily. Clint tugged the fabric out of Lucky’s mouth before heaving the dog gently into his arms, gently rough housing with him similar to how a child might.

James looked away from the image. He was troubled, but that was nothing new to him.

The next time Steve visited, James was certain it was going to play out like it had before. James would keep his back to the glass, Steve would stare at his back and talk, and everything would be uncomfortable on both sides of the glass. His head would ache with memories just out of his reach and his chest would sting until Steve finally left.

But James felt the restlessness underneath his skin grow more volatile as Steve sank down and put his back to the glass wall. Clint’s words echoed almost ominously in his head. He knew on some level that Clint was right. That he was asking things Clint couldn’t possibly answer, but that James so desperately wanted the answer to. James turned to look over his shoulder, taking in the blond hair and slope of a back that was so familiar yet…

Steve was taking longer to start talking, and James turned the rest of the way around, before looking towards one of the boxes from earlier, gripping the newspaper in his hand and forcing himself to breathe. He carefully made his way to where Steve was sitting, crouching down and holding the newspaper against the glass. Steve had yet to notice, and James hesitated for a moment, before he rapped on the glass with the knuckles on his flesh hand. Steve startled, his eyes wide as he turned to James. James immediately wanted to look away, bile rising in his throat at the expressions flitting across Steve’s face, but he forced himself to sit still.

After several tense, almost petrifying moments, Steve’s eyes finally moved towards the article he was holding against the glass, his brows furrowing, before they softened slightly.

“This was the article they released after I rescued you and your men from that Hydra base,” Steve said quietly, and James nodded once, stiffly.

“… Tell me,” James managed, and Steve looked at him with confusion, so he forced himself to elaborate. “Tell me what happened.”

Steve stared at the article, and then up at James, before he nodded, turning so he could rest his back against the glass again. James took in a large breath, as if he could finally breathe, before he settled his back against the glass as well, mirroring their positions from before.

When Steve spoke this time, it held more than nostalgia and grief and wistfulness. This Steve was quietly amused, just the slightest bit proud, and James found it wasn’t as unsettling as he anticipated it might be.

Until Steve finished and turned to James with big eyes and James knew what was coming, but it didn’t take any sting from the unintended blow.

“I… Bucky-“ he began quietly, and James immediately shook his head.

“I’m not Bucky,” James said, and Steve furrowed his brows as if that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting.

“But… but you’re remembering-” Steve said, looking confused and lost and James knew this was what was going to happen, but he hated it more than he initially anticipated he would.

“I’m not Bucky,” James said more firmly, his voice growling now, and Steve abruptly stopped speaking, staring at him. James met his gaze darkly, and finally Steve let out a big sigh, a hand coming up to rub the back of his neck.

“Well, then, who are you?” Steve asked quietly, and James felt something tight in his chest ease just the slightest bit even as the question, while simple, made James feel even more conflicted. James really hated trying to dissect all these feelings when they change so fast.

“James,” he said shortly, because he didn’t have a deeper answer. He wasn’t even sure what that meant yet, but it had to mean something. There was a barely-there flash of recognition in Steve’s eyes, before the man was smiling a smile that was still strained, but more real than anything James had seen before.

“I- well, uh, hi James, I’m Steve Rogers,” Steve said, and James nodded his head, dipping it towards his chest, feeling something he would name amusement at Steve’s floundering introduction.

“Yes. You are,” James said, choosing not to answer the question Steve was asking with his eyes and turned away instead. He couldn’t do much more than that, not now, maybe not soon.

But it would happen, one way or another.

***

The ass ripping Clint had gotten as soon as he emerged from his time spent with Bucky – James, damnit – the first time in his prison cell was definitely worth the knowledge that James didn’t feel the need to kill him. Clint wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t _want_ to, but the fact that he was had walked away unscathed was encouraging. James had different look about him from before. He no longer looked so dead; it looked like he was thinking. Clint was sure they couldn’t be good thoughts, that it would most likely be more of a blessing if James never surfaced from whatever haze Hydra had put him under, but it was progress, and nothing could knock him down a peg, not even Captain America and Tony Stark ganging up on him to give him a talking to about security and recklessness.

And, Natasha, the traitor, actually _agreed_ with them. But, as much as Clint wanted to hold it against her, he found he couldn’t; he knew why she was scared, _worried_. She had seen the Winter Soldier in action in a way the rest of them haven’t; it was no wonder she was majorly unsettled. It was a similar look he saw in some of the younger agents’ eyes on the off chance he saw them. He couldn’t fault them either.

Clint knew that Bucky, his Bucky at least, couldn’t exist anymore, regardless of what happened next. And yet, despite that, Clint wasn’t worried. Not anymore. Fuck yeah it sucked, and Clint wished it hadn’t happened to him, but he knew first hand that it’s possible to come back, and Clint would have Bucky back as James and ignorant of what they had before than any version of Bucky that was dead. It felt almost selfish of him when he thought it, but he couldn’t help it.

It felt good, sitting with James. He had eyes that were cunning, unsettling, but brilliant and so very intelligent. He would read and read and read, so quickly, absorbing information faster than any human he had ever met, aside from maybe Steve. And the way he asked questions, to the point, cutting, very different from Bucky, but easier to answer, in a way.

He won’t ever forget James’s reaction to Lucky. The way his eyes widened just a fraction before he could completely lock down his face into his usual neutral expression. While Clint was usually good about keeping his grief about losing Bucky under wraps, that was one of the very few times he resented that James was James and not Bucky.

But as soon as it passed, he felt like a giant asshole. He promised to keep bringing Lucky.

James continued to make slow but steady progress, and he was subconsciously using Clint as a crutch. Clint wasn’t even sure if he was aware that he was doing it. It was always Clint he would come to with questions, always Clint he would work through difficult and fuzzy dreams and visions with. It was gratifying to know that James in some way trusted him, as much as he could trust anyone at the moment.

And maybe that was the reason he decided to push his luck and ask Tony if he could take James to the roof.

“Absolutely not.”

Tony’s voice was hard, his back stiff where he was sitting in his chair. He put on a pretty good show of pretending to work while Clint stood there, but Clint could see the reflection of his hands in his computer screen. He had them frozen over whatever the hell he was working on, his expression pinched.

“C’mon, Tony, he can’t stay in there forever,” Clint wheedled. “I heard he talked to Steve the other day, willingly,” Clint pressed, and Tony’s shoulders tensed.

“That doesn’t mean anything and we both know it,” Tony said, and Clint groaned.

“I’d be there watching him and everything Tony,” Clint said, and Tony turned to raise a single eyebrow at him and Clint gasped, offended.

“I could totally take him!” Clint said fiercely, and the corner of Tony’s mouth twitched just a touch and while Clint was still mildly irritated at the insinuation, he’d take Tony’s amusement over his scowl any day.

“Sorry Clint, I know you’ve got your party trick throwing darts and what not, but Barnes has got around fifty plus years of experience on you,” Tony said, and Clint scoffed.

“Some friend you are,” Clint grumbled, and Tony fully smirked this time.

“Sorry, we were friends?” Tony asked innocently and Clint flipped him off.

“You bought me fancy dog toys!” Clint accused, and Tony’s expression twisted slightly and he glanced away. Clint had no idea where he had just went wrong but he really wanted to back track, because it had looked like maybe Tony was warming up to his admittedly mildly reckless plan.

“Listen Clint… I know you really want to help out Barnes because of your time crossed romance, but… but that isn’t…” Tony said, finally meeting Clint’s eyes with his. They were flint, as if this was something he was going to have to drill into Clint, but damn it, Clint didn’t _need_ that. It was becoming obvious that he was the one taking what had happened the best. Which was weirdly mature. Gross.

“I’m not asking to help Bucky, Tony. I’m asking to help James,” Clint said, crossing his arms. “Contrary to the belief that I’m the one to stay stuck in the past, I’m really not. I’m the king of a fast-paced future. So the guy I was bumping uglies with is suddenly not the same person,” Tony gave him a pointed look and he scowled, “ _but_ he’s still a pretty okay person, if given the chance. So, I want to give him this chance,” Clint said. “I was lucky to have someone give me mine,” he admitted quietly. Tony watched him with heavy eyes, his mouth twisted, before he sighed, running a greasy hand through his hair.

“If he jumps off the roof and lives to escape, I’m letting Steve handle you,” Tony grumbled, and while Clint really really didn’t want to be handled in any sense of the word by Steve, he was already pumping his fist in victory.

“Fuck yeah! I’ll see you in a couple of hours if I don’t get choked out by the Winter Soldier in a non-sexy way!” Clint called. He didn’t stick around to hear Tony’s half shouted half laughing reply.

***

James was shaking, a barely there tremor that seemed earth shattering. He stared at his hands blankly as his vision swam back into focus. He squeezed his eyes shut after a moment, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

So much blood. So young. How had he not cared? How could he have just closed his hand around her throat; he could almost touch his thumb and ring finger of his metal hand together-

There was muted horror and guilt simmering away at the back of his subconscious that only seemed to intensify every breath he breathed free from his handlers. Every time he remembered helping people - remembered what his Ma and sister would say about kindness, remembered scraps he and Steve would get in helping the little guys – he couldn’t help but think of all the things he remembered doing because it was his mission. For some reason, remembering that he was capable of mercy at some point made his mindless violence that much more difficult to swallow. James wasn’t sure what good his hands were anymore. Especially the metal one.

He hadn’t always had it. He remembered that now. The ache he could ignore before was worse now, or at least felt worse, heavier with guilt he now had no problems feeling. He didn’t realize how much the weight of it tugged at the muscles of his back, making most movements with his neck and shoulders just painful enough to warrant distracted attention when he wasn’t in fight-or-flight mode.

It would be a fitting penance, and yet James wasn’t sure it was enough.

He was broken out of his thoughts by the sound of the door behind him swinging open and banging against the glass wall. He whipped around immediately, knowing distantly it was probably only Clint, but the more instinctual part was ready to-

The aggression immediately faded as Lucky licked at his face. He blinked at the dog, feeling his lips twitch a little bit, before he looked up at Clint. Clint was beaming, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. James noted with distracted interest that Clint had shaved recently, even if his wardroom choice remained wrinkled sleep clothes.

“Good news James! I’m busting you outta here!” Clint declared. “And by that, I mean I’m going to take you to the roof. And for the love of everything, don’t do anything funny, or else they’ll never let me do this again,” Clint said quickly. Bucky just blinked at him.

Clint stared back at him, before he made a frustrated noise and motioned for him to get up. “C’mon! I didn’t bully Stark just so you can sit on the floor and give me that thousand yard stare behind those greasy locks. Have you considered cutting it?” Clint asked, and Bucky immediately tensed. But before he could respond, Clint was already dropping it and calling to Lucky, who bounded over. Bucky stood slowly facing the still unlocked door warily. It could be a test. This whole thing could’ve just been one of his handler’s tests, to test his loyalty, to test the strength of their brainwashing. Before he knew it, he would be strapped back in that chair, forgetting everything all over again.

“-ames! You okay there?” Clint asked, suddenly much closer, and James forced himself to focus, taking a deep breath and setting his jaw. It wouldn’t matter either way even if it was the case; he hadn’t killed his captors when he had the chance, and that was condemning enough. And at least if it wasn’t true, there was a chance that he would be getting to go outside and that… sounded nice.

“The roof,” James said, and Clint grinned, reaching out to grab his wrist, his metal wrist. James yanked his arm out of reach instinctively, growling, and Clint immediately backed off, holding his hands in the air.

“Whoa, bad touch, I hear ya… can you at least hold onto my hood then? I don’t think you’ll duck out on me in the tower but better safe then sorry,” Clint said, turning and gesturing to the hood on the back of his sweatshirt. James eyed the fabric for a moment, his heart still racing from the attempt at contact, before he tentatively reached out with his flesh arm to grab the back of Clint’s hoodie. The other man shot a grin over his shoulder in his direction before he started moving towards the entrance.

James hesitated. Although the room was a prison, it was also the only place James had existed as himself. Not as the Soldier, not as Bucky, but as James, and for a blinding second he was sure if he left it would shatter. But Clint kept moving, and James didn’t want to let go, so he took in a breath and passed through the doorway-

And nothing happened. Clint continued to the elevator, chattering on and on about archery and aim and stingers, but James was too busy looking around. He cataloged everything, from the faint sounds of the pipes working a few floors up, to the gentle hum of the elevator that came to take them to the roof. He stared at the camera in the room, wondering who was watching, because someone was always watching.

The elevator ride was quiet, Lucky sitting patiently between their legs. James spent the ride gently petting Lucky’s head as a form of comfort, even if he wouldn’t admit that aloud.

Clint was practically vibrating by the time the elevator came to a stop and Lucky bolted out of the doors, running in circles and waiting for Clint to open the final door to the outside. James kept a tight hold on Clint’s hoodie, which Clint seemed to appreciate based on the grin he shot him.

“Alright Lucky, go nuts!” Clint shouted as he threw the door open. Lucky shot off onto the roof, and Clint laughed loud, following the dog with a bit of a spring in his step. James followed him easily, his eyes tracking Lucky as the dog chased the pigeons resting on the roof. Carefree and happy. It warmed something foreign in him.

“Look at that view. Nice yeah, James?” Clint asked, and James finally looked out off the roof. He cocked his head to the side, following Clint to ledge containing them to the tower. He dug his fingers firmly into Clint’s hoodie as he was hit in the face with a harsh blast of wind that scattered his hair. Clint laughed into the wind, closing his eyes and leaning into it.

“Welcome to my nest! Like a little slice of heaven for Lucky and I. Its peaceful, isn’t it?” Clint asked, opening his eyes, and James took in the twinkling lights and the bustle of the streets. Something inside of him stirred at the sight, something familiar that he couldn’t place, but-

“Yes. Peaceful.”

Clint beamed at that, before he turned towards the skyline and opened his mouth to continue to chatter, more about his missions, about taking a sniper’s nest too literally, about his code name, but James wasn’t listening all too closely. He was following the feeling blooming in his stomach to give it a name. It felt good, but nothing like the joy he has heard Steve describe. It was less that and more…more like contentment.

He couldn’t remember when he last felt contentment, but he knew that had to be what he was feeling then. The name for what he couldn’t quite remember feeling before.

“-tasha is a total badass, and I mean, I’m definitely a badass too, but I’m more of a ‘run in and hope for the best’ and less of a stealth demon like she is. I could be stealthy if I wanted to, but who needs steal with aim like I’ve got,” Clint rambled, and James turned away from the elevator doors to watch him. He kept up a constant stream of words, alternating between gesticulating and petting Lucky, but his words never stopped. It was nice, grounding, and James wondered if Clint was doing it on purpose for him, if Clint knew just how overwhelming it was when he had two very conflicting pieces of himself scrambling to input their opinions on his situation.

The Asset wanted to flee. He wanted to throw Clint off the side using his hoodie and climb down the tower. It was his chance to escape his captors. Or maybe, after finishing Clint off, he would go back inside of the tower and kill the rest of them to get his revenge.

But Bucky would want to stay. He would want to interject and poke and marvel at the sight in front of him. He would want to release the grip on Clint’s hoodie and instead take his hand and bump their shoulders together, and maybe when Clint looked at him, he would lean over-

James squinted his eyes. That was strange. He didn’t remember anything like that from before. It made his heart thump dangerously, almost as if he was feeling threatened, but he forced himself to relax and shove the feeling away. Just another complication. But that was okay; James was patient.

Instead of throwing Clint off of the tower or winding their hands together, he simply stood where he was, staring over at the skyline and listening to Clint prattle on until the other man’s words finally drifted off into nothing and he too looked out at the skyline. Clint’s body was a soft line next to his, completely trusting, and that felt… good. It felt good.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but it was long enough for Lucky to get bored and curl up to nap at their feet. Enough for James’s legs to grow a little numb and his cheeks to begin to burn from the wind.

Eventually Clint turned, looking a little regretful and jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

“As much as I’d love to stay,” and he sounded sincere, “I should really get to my training session with Nat. She’s the only one keeping me in vague shape now adays. If it weren’t for her, I’d be a certified couch potato,” Clint said, slapping his nonexistent stomach. James eyed his muscular build and found that that wasn’t quiet the case, but he didn’t say anything, just nodded curtly and followed Clint back to the elevator, back to his cell. His prison, his home.

Clint looked a little sheepish as James willingly stepped through the door. “I’ll try and see what I can do about getting you out more. It seemed like you enjoyed that?” Clint asked tentatively. James blinked. He didn’t answer for a long time, long enough that Clint’s eyes took on the slightest pinch, but then-

“Thank you,” James said carefully, maintaining eye contact with Clint in hopes that he could understand what James couldn’t quite voice yet. Clint’s eyes widened a touch, before they softened with something James couldn’t read.

“Of course. What are friends for, amiright?” Clint asked flippantly, but James could read the sincerity in his words, as hidden as it was. Clint threw him a peace sign before he shut and locked the door and headed towards the elevator with Lucky. James sat down and stared after them.

Friends. He liked the idea of that.

***

Clint wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he went back down to Tony’s lab to see about allowing James out of his cell in a more permanent sense, but he definitely wasn’t expecting Steve to back him up so ardently.

“You were watching them the whole time on the roof Tony. He could’ve made an escape any time, or at least tried to kill Clint. But he didn’t. I think it would be a good idea. Prove we aren’t the enemy,” Steve had reasoned while Tony glared at the two of them.

But no one can resist a passionate Steve, least of all Tony, and Clint thanked whatever god was up there that had placed Steve in Tony’s general vicinity for this conversation. Clint had no idea how much he could get away after pestering him the first time.

“I still think it’s a bad idea, but… fine whatever. Since when have I had any say on what goes on in this glorified zoo,” Tony had grumbled, looking irritated and wary. “But,” he interjected loudly as Clint began to make a made dash towards the elevator, “JARVIS is going to lock down whatever floor he is on until I get as warm and fuzzy as you are about him.”

That was fair.

Which was how he had landed here, showing off his room once again to a time sick soldier.

“Pretty sweet, huh? Much better then whatever one-star motel they had set up for you in the basement,” Clint said. James carefully looked around, his gaze inscrutable, before he met Clint’s eyes again.

“It is filthy,” he said, his face passive, and Clint was torn between amusement and offense.

“Yeah, well, saving the world twenty-four seven doesn’t leave a lot of time for spring cleaning,” he grumbled, before grinning when Lucky rounded the corner from his bedroom, his tail wagging furiously. That, at least, got the hint of a smile from James, who knelt immediately to pet the dog with his flesh hand. Clint couldn’t help but marvel at how far James had already come, just in reading and behaving with Lucky. It felt hopeful.

“You can take the bed, by the way. I’m usually out most nights on missions or catching up on Dog Cop into the wee hours of the morning, so I don’t use it as much anymore,” Clint said suddenly to bring his thoughts back to the topic at hand. James looked up at him, his hair tumbling back over his shoulder and his eyes wary but bright, and Clint realized how beautiful James was. In the next beat, Clint’s brain shuddered, and he finally realized how utterly fucked he was.

“I don’t think-“ James began as he stood, a little furrow that indicated his confusion beginning to appear between his brows, and Clint held up his hands, shaking his head.

“Nope! My floor, my rules. You take the bed. I bet it’s the best thing you’ve ever slept on,” Clint said, before putting his hands on James’s shoulders and giving him a firm push towards the bedroom. James didn’t budge, just looked at Clint blankly. Clint huffed and rolled his eyes.

“All these super soldiers are gonna give me a complex,” he muttered under his breath, before he shoved James a little more gently. “Seriously. Go sleep on something nicer than concrete for once. I have to go debrief, but it shouldn’t take more than an hour. Lucky likes snuggling, I bet you’ll enjoy that,” Clint teased with a grin. James stared at him for a moment more, before he looked down at Lucky and then towards the bedroom. He began to move slowly, and Lucky kept pace, continuing to look up at James with big eyes and his tongue hanging out. It made Clint’s chest ache just a touch.

Fucked. Well and truly fucked.

***

It was cold.

And it was wet.

James – the Asset – he – it had a mission.

The car crashed. The mission was not over.

But James didn’t want to-

James doesn’t exist.

The Asset reaches in and pulls the mission out. He pulls back his arm-

Blood splatters, quickly washed away from the rain.

Mission Completed.

There is a whimper from the car, a scream of the mission’s name.

No witnesses.

It put its metal hand around the witness throat. It squeezes. The witness opens its mouth and –

“James,” it says. The Asset tenses up. James didn’t exist, he couldn’t exist.

“James it’s me,” it says, its voice choking up as James tightens his grip. James does not exist, James does not exist-

“It’s Clint.”

Reality slammed into James, all of his senses lighting up at once. Clint was scrabbling at his metal hand that was slowly crushing his throat in his iron grip.

“James, it’s just a nightmare-“ Clint choked out, his face beginning to turn an unpleasant shade of red, and suddenly James jolted out of his shock and released Clint, stepping back and staring. Clint gasped in great gulps of air, one of his hands reaching up to touch his neck that was already beginning to slowly blossom with bruises as James watched.

“Well, I knew it was a bad idea to sneak up on super spy assassins,” Clint croaked out, his voice hoarse. James stared at him, at the way his body was slumped against the wall, and felt a surge of shame, hate, sadness, anger that caused him to take a few stumbling and unsteady steps backwards. Clint looked up at the sudden movement, and James wanted to tell him not to look, but he couldn’t seem to unclench his jaw.

It was then he finally realized how tense he was, how sweat had soaked his sleep shirt and that his normally controlled heart rate was flying at an erratic tempo in his chest. It was something that normally accompanied these sort of memories or visions or dreams, but he had never… attacked anyone.

James flinched as Clint stood up, and Clint immediately froze, putting his hands up slowly. Clint was scared of him. Clint was scared of James. James knew that was the smart thing for Clint to do, the right thing but it still sat like a stone in his stomach.  He didn’t like the way that felt.

“Don’t,” James growled out, hoping that his glare would keep Clint pinned to the wall, but if James knew anything about Clint at this point, it was that he was stubborn and reckless, more reckless then James had been back when he was Bucky.

But that was besides the point.

“You were having a nightmare, James. It’s not your fault,” Clint said, stepping forward, and James tried to take another step back again, but felt the his movement halted as the bed hit his knees. He felt trapped, even though he knew how easy it would be to run away if he really wanted to.

“I could’ve killed you,” James said, keeping his eyes on Clint’s feet that were slowly inching towards him. Why wasn’t Clint stopping; wasn’t he scared? He should be scared. James was… James was some sort of monster. If he wasn’t before, he certainly was now after everything.

“But you didn’t James. You didn’t,” Clint said, sounding much closer than before. James jerked his head up when Clint’s feet were finally close enough that they were toe to toe, and he glared at the other man fiercely. He wanted him to leave, he wanted him to get away because all James knew how to do was hurt and kill and follow orders.

And he couldn’t do that to Clint because Clint was his friend. James knew that, he knew that’s what it meant, when he felt scared for him, like he wanted to protect him. Clint was his friend, and he deserved better.

“I shouldn’t have woken you up like that. I knew better,” Clint said quietly. James didn’t respond. Clint stared at him, before he slowly reached forward and took hold of James metal hand. James made to yank away, before he froze when Clint carefully brushed his thumb soothingly along his wrist where his pulse point would be if he had one there. The touch was so strange, so out of place from everything he’s felt with that arm. Nothing but pressure, but a pressure that wasn’t meant to harm, just soothe.

James looked at the hand on his wrist for several long slow beats, before he slowly looked up into Clint’s eyes, which were deep with an emotion James couldn’t identify. He wanted to say something, maybe another warning, but nothing would come out.

“It’s okay James. It’s okay,” Clint said softly, before slowly bringing his other hand up to cup the back of James’s neck and pull him down into a hug. James went stiffly- he didn’t want to pull away and risk hurting Clint again – but he found that as soon as his face was buried in the crook of Clint’s neck, he felt his muscles relax slightly.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been touched like this. He remembers hugging Steve and his mother and his men when they really needed it, but that was all seventy some years ago. It was strange, to be close like this with someone when he wasn’t fighting them. It made his pulse waver dangerously.

“You shouldn’t trust me,” James said quietly, his voice blank. Clint just chuckled a little bit, but didn’t respond, just shaking his head lightly. James could feel the muscles in his neck moving.

James didn’t ask, but he did pull away to look at Clint. Clint had an expression of mild amusement and a touch of sadness on his face. It was confusing, everything that was happening was confusing, and yet, James still didn’t ask to clarify.

Maybe it was because he wasn’t sure if Clint would have the answer even if he asked.

After a few beats, Clint let out a deep sigh from his mouth and held out his hand, gesturing for James to follow.

“’M guessing you aren’t gonna get any more sleep tonight, so we might as well start getting you accustomed to getting your ass kicked in Mario Kart,” Clint said. James followed with his brows furrowed slightly, only mildly thrown off by Clint’s sudden change in tactics. It was something he was still getting used to.

“Mario Kart?” he murmured under his breath, instead of asking one of the million other questions he had floating around in his head. Clint laughed.

“Oh yeah, I’m gonna kick your ass,” Clint teased, flopping down on his couch and throwing a leg over one of the arms. James stared at him for a moment, taking in the comfortable slouch of his body, before he sat down on the couch.

“Unlikely,” he couldn’t help but say, unsure if it was the correct thing to say in the first place.

When Clint burst out laughing and nudged him with his foot, James chest felt warm. A good kind of warm. He liked that he made Clint laugh. The only thing he could compare it too was the satisfaction of a completing a mission, but stronger.

He was jostled from his thoughts by Clint shoving a controller into his hands. He stared at the bright colors before over at Clint through his hair. Clint beamed in response. Against his will, James felt himself smile a little bit back, almost hesitantly. Clint’s eyes widened just a touch, before he coughed and turned away, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck.

“Alright, buckle up gramps and get ready for an ass whooping,” Clint said, and James turned back to the screen, the nightmare already so faded, he couldn’t really feel the terror that was always licking at his subconscious.

***

Clint crossed his arms and watched as James geared up to land another hit to one of Steve’s reinforced punching bags. Even reinforced how it was, it still swayed and threatened to buckle against James’s full strength, the chain groaning as it swung back and forth.

Sometime, when James’s was too keyed up from whatever it was he dreamt about at night, Clint took him down to the training room to let off some steam. He remembered sometimes the only thing that could calm his racing heart was a good training session. James’s seemed to be more relaxed after it, and Clint, of course, didn’t mind watching him.

His eyes glanced appreciatively across James’s upper back, admiring the way the muscles in his shoulders stretched his shirt tight as he pounded the punching bag. His expression was intense and focused, sweat just barely beginning to form at his temple, and Clint couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have all that terrifying intensity aimed at him.

Clint looked away abruptly, feeling a wave of guilt. He wasn’t sure if it was from the fact that he was ignoring what had happened with Bucky by already wanted James, or if it was from using James to replace the ache Bucky had left behind. Even if they were technically the same person. He rubbed his forehead. Goddamnit this whole thing was so fucked.

The past couple of months were spent bring James slowly into the fold from all sides. He was still on lock down, but nobody, not even James, expected anything different, even as he continued to show exponential improvement, despite the occasional setback, as upsetting as they were.

James continued to remember the past. He reached out more to Steve to help uncover the parts that were fuzzy. Clint had briefly entertained the idea of having Natasha speak to James about what happened in the Red Room, but quickly dismissed it; he was sure neither of them wanted to relive that memory.

The more James remembered, the more human he seemed to become. He was still quiet, but he asked more questions, looked more alive when he discovered something he liked. He was killer at Mario Kart, which didn’t surprise Clint, but was still disappointing all the same. He seemed to enjoy watching movies, but nothing too intense. They had learned that the hard way, unfortunately. His poor coffee table.

James finally stepped away from the bag, reaching his hand back and gently massaging where his shoulder met metal as he rotated his arm gently. Clint frowned a little bit. He had talked to Tony about having him take a look at James’s arm, but James wasn’t interested in anyone touching anything even remotely connected to the arm. And the hesitance from James’s aside, Tony was still wary, as much as he tried not to let James, or the rest of them, for that matter, onto that fact.

James turned and Clint flashed him a smile, hoping he didn’t look too guilty. “Feelin’ better after giving that thing a beating?” Clint asked, and James turned to look at the still swinging bag before back at Clint.

“I’m not sure,” he said, before continuing, “Thank you for letting me down here.” He still looked a little uncomfortable expression gratitude, but Clint let it slide, shrugging his shoulder.

“I don’t have anything better to do. Want to try and sleep again?” Clint asked patiently, and James stared at him, still unmoving. Clint shifted a little where he was leaning against the wall, but didn’t turn his gaze away from James’s. He knew James had a question, and he didn’t mind waiting for him to form it.

“Why do you understand me?” James asked finally, looking just a touch troubled. Clint blinked in surprise, before he pursed his lips. Well, he certainly wasn’t expecting that. Part of him wanted to brush it off, lie or something, but James had trusted Clint an insane amount considering his past, when he really didn’t have to trust him at all. If James had to relive his hell every night, Clint could retell his just this once.

“I had a run in with brainwashing myself a little while ago,” Clint said, breathing out slowly. “I know what it feels like to not trust yourself, to wonder if maybe today is gonna be the day it all goes to shit again.” Clint finally looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I had a lot of people who helped me out of that. I know what I needed, and I figured maybe you might need the same. Or at least, something similar.”

It was quiet for several heavy beats. Clint was just a touch too afraid to look, unsure of what he would see. Resentment, pity? Or maybe just a blank stare, something Clint really couldn’t read.

But suddenly there was a gently touch on the side of his arm and he whipped his head up, his eyes wide. James was touching his bicep with his flesh hand, his eyes troubled but untouched by pity or fear.

“That is unfortunate,” James said stiffly, and Clint just blinked, still gaping a little bit. This was the first time James had initiated touch. Or at least, a touch that was meant to comfort, to show affection. James seemed to grow uncomfortable the longer Clint stared at him, before he finally got with the program and snapped his mouth shut.

“It’s whatever. It happened, and now it’s over,” Clint said flippantly, before he reached up and carefully patted James’s shoulder. James stared for a moment, before he slowly moved back and towards the door.

“I would like to watch more of the Firefly show. Beating you at your own games is getting a little boring” James snarked quietly after a moment, and Clint let out a startled bark of laughter. He was still getting used to the bite of sass he had picked up, but Clint would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the ribbing. It felt friendly, close. He couldn’t help but smile a little bit.

“Sure thing.”

***

The sweat was finally cooling on James’s back and he sat with his shoulders pressed to the wall with his head between his knees. Lucky was curled up at his feet, the dog’s nose pressed as comfort between his hands.

James hated his nightmares. Hated them even more knowing they were visions from the past. That he was responsible for so much pain. That he wasn’t strong enough to resist the brainwashing. He remembered fighting so hard in the beginning. He isn’t even sure when it changed. When he became a good little soldier; when he became a monster.

James first instinct was to run to Clint. Clint wasn’t there and he was locked down to this floor. James was annoyed by how much comfort he found in Clint, even if the other man made a point of letting him know that he really didn’t mind all the late nights spent entertaining James when he couldn’t sleep. James knew Clint needed the sleep, knew a lot of his mission were long and taxing, but James was selfish in this way. So completely selfish.

Clint made him feel many things he remembered and some things he didn’t. It felt dangerous but thrilling to be with Clint when he wasn’t sure what to name the things he was feeling. He wanted to figure them out, yet at the same time wanted the mystery to remain. For once, he almost wasn’t interesting in solving this puzzle. He was content to just feel and enjoy it

James enhanced hearing suddenly picked up the sound of the elevator doors opening, and he perked up a little. Lucky lifted his head as well, his tail slowly started to wag as footsteps approached the door. Clint gently pushed the door open, trying to appear quiet, before he dropped all pretenses when he saw James sitting against the wall.

“Nightmare?” Clint asked, even though they both knew he knew exactly what had happened. James shrugged in response.

“What happened to your face?” James asked instead, and Clint laughed, taking the change of subject with ease.

“Decided to break some bad guys with it. Although that also included some collateral damage to it too but eh, semantics,” Clint said flippantly, and James couldn’t help but frown a little.

“You should take better care of yourself,” James said, and Clint grinned at him.

“What, you care about lil old me or something, James? That almost sounded sentimental,” Clint teased, and James stared at him.

“Yes,” he said, and found that it was entirely true. Clint’s eyes widened just a touch, and James suddenly wondered if that was the completely wrong thing to say. But then Clint was smiling again, wider and more sincere than before.

“Awh shucks, James, you’re gonna make me cry,” Clint sniffled, pretending to wipe a tear away, and James rolled his eyes.

“You’re an asshole,” James said matter of factly, and Clint barked out a laugh.

“But an asshole you care about, apparently,” Clint shot back, his grin still wide and teasing. James didn’t respond.

“So, whatcha wanna do to help you sleep?” Clint asked as he shucked of his dirty stealth armor and rooted around for some cleaner clothes. James wasn’t sure if they existed, but he wasn’t going to ask; he was almost afraid of the answer. “TV? Mario Kart? Exercise?”

James watched him for a moment, before he looked at where his hands were interlaced. He… actually wanted to try something, something he remembered from before, but he felt weird asking Steve. He knew Steve wouldn’t make fun of him, but it would be too strange. Steve would be looking for someone else the whole time, and James wasn’t even sure if it would be an acceptable thing to do with Steve.

“I’d… I’d like to try dancing,” James said, and Clint whipped his head around, watching James curiously. James instantly felt defensive. “I just, I remember dancing, back then. I remember that I liked it, that it was… soothing,” he said, before he shook his head. “It was a stupid idea. Don’t worry about it.”

But Clint suddenly launched into motion, a grin on his face. “No no! That sounds fun as hell! Do you think you remember the steps? A… a friend of mine taught me a little some time ago. I can move the furniture and get JARVIS to play something for us just… follow me!” Clint said, his whole body animated despite the exhaustion James had seen clearly in Clint’s body a moment ago.

He followed Clint slowly into the living room, watching as the man move the (new) coffee table around. James found himself watching the impressive flex of Clint’s arms as he shoved the table to the side as if it were nothing. Clint was only human, and yet incredibly strong. It must be because of his archery. James paused. That was a strange tangent, one that James was quickly knocked from as Clint turned to him and held out his hands.

James had almost forgot that this dancing required touch. He wasn’t sure why, since he remembered enjoying that part about it the most. He suddenly wasn’t sure if he was going to find this fun after all, but Clint was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited with his hands outstretched patiently.

James paused for a moment more, before he took a step forward. He put his flesh hand in Clint’s, but hesitated with his metal. Clint had never showed any signs of disliking the metal before but those could’ve been accidents. Maybe he really didn’t want to touch James’s metal hand. James’s certainly wouldn’t want to if it wasn’t attached to him-

Suddenly Clint took a hold of his metal hand and grinned at him. “Can’t keep me waiting all day, old man. We gotta put you down for your nap soon,” Clint teased, and James couldn’t help but snort.

“Am I older or younger than you? You can’t seem to pick,” James mused, and Clint huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Doesn’t matter, let me rib you in peace, jeez,” Clint muttered good naturedly, before he tilted his head slightly to the ceiling.

“Hey JARVIS, play us some swing music, will you?” Clint asked. JARVIS didn’t answer, but a beat later bright music began to play from the speakers above and Clint practically beamed. James was stunned for a minute, until Clint squeezed his hands.

“Well? Let’s see how much you remember,” Clint said, and James nodded with something like determination, before he started to move through the steps he remembered.

He knew he was doing it correctly, copying the moves he could still feel from his vision, but it just wasn’t the same. He wondered if it was because he was dancing with Clint, or if he was so damaged he really couldn’t enjoy anything anymore. The thought darkened his mood considerably.

The stiff dance continued for a few minutes before Clint suddenly drew them to a stop. James looked at him warily, unsure if he was about to be scolded or teased, but Clint just smiled easily at him.

“Loosen up a little but James. You’re acting like this dance is something you gotta act out. Like it’s a job or something. It ain’t. It’s for fun. If you step on my toes or drop me, I’ll be fine. I guarantee I’ve had worse,” Clint said, his smile still firmly in place, and James swallowed a little bit, unsure why he felt more nervous after Clint’s reassurance than before. _Nervous._ Strange.

“Okay. Let’s try again,” James said instead of backing out like he wanted to. He set his brow with determination, much to Clint’s amusement.

“Lead the way then,” he said, and James nodded, before pulling Clint into another move.

For a few more minutes, it was stilted and a touch awkward, but by the time Clint implemented another improvised twirl, James was starting to relax and follow the music instead of any of the dances he had seen in his visions.

By the time they had finally gotten into the rhythm of it, James was swinging Clint around with ease. Clint was clearly delighted, letting out whoops if James pulled him in too suddenly or too hard, his hands flying out to catch himself on James. But all the while Clint beamed and laughed, his eyes bright and warm whenever James caught them with his own. It was intoxicating, seeing Clint like this. It was like he was in his element.

“I want to try something,” James said suddenly, and Clint froze a little bit, but only for a beat before he was back in step, his smile just a touch curious.

“Okay? Gonna clue me in?” Clint asked.

“I want to pick you up,” James said, and Clint’s eyes sparked with something James couldn’t name. For a second, James was sure Clint was going to refuse, but then he smiled warmly, the strange look fading as he nodded.

“Alright, just don’t drop me,” Clint warned teasingly, but James nodded seriously, and Clint chuckled softly.

“I won’t,” he said and Clint nodded, before gripping onto James forearms, as if he already knew where this was going. James reached down and grabbed Clint’s waist, before swiftly lifting him up off the ground and swinging him to the left and then right of himself. He tossed Clint into the air, which he realized he hadn’t warned the man of the second after he did it, but Clint naturally twirled gracefully and fell back into James’s arms without missing a beat.

Clint leaned back into James’s chest, James’s elbows holding him securely under his armpits, and Clint let out a laugh, looking up at him over his shoulder. 

“Fucking hell, James, that’s one hell of a trip,” he said breathlessly, his eyes sparkling.

And then suddenly-

_It’s raining and Clint has blood on his shirt. His knuckles ache, and he’s worried about this man he just met. This stupid, impossibly reckless man._

_“It’s not mine.”_

_Bucky’s glad-_

_Mario Kart, and Clint cursing as Bucky knocked him off the side of Rainbow Road again._

_“This is totally unfair,” he whines, and Bucky’s still getting used to the fact he really wants to kiss him_  

_Leaning down to kiss him, his hand buried in his hair. It’s sweet and slow and unhurried and Bucky wants to stay like this forever, just holding Clint as the sun set slowly as they sat on the roof-_

_Dancing, swinging Clint around, feeling Clint push his body against his firmly to a seductive beat, his heart in his throat. Clint holding him close, his grip almost bruising and there are tears waiting to spill over because this was it, this was it-_

When he came back to himself, he was on the floor, and Clint was hovering over him, careful not to touch, but his eyes full of concern and worry. _For Bucky_ , his mind betrayed, and James suddenly felt a surge of bitterness that overwhelmed the confusion he was feeling.

“Another vision?” Clint asked softly, and for the first time, Clint’s concern felt fake and wrong. Because it wasn’t for James. It was for who James was, just like Steve. He called James James, but he didn’t really believe it, did he? He was just waiting for Bucky to come back.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” James asked lowly, and Clint’s brow furrowed in confusion. But all the confusion did was make him angrier, his jaw gritting down until it was almost painful.

“Tell you what James? Gotta work with me here, pal, I’m not a mind reader,” Clint said, trying to make light, but James wasn’t amused. He was far from amused.

“That you knew me… before. That you knew… him. That you were in love with him,” James accused in a rush, and Clint immediately paled, his eyes growing wide in his head.

There was several long beats of silence, the dancing and song already long forgotten as Clint stared at James and James stared back, hurt and betrayed and angry. This kind of anger hurt, and he hated the way it felt like acid sloshing in his stomach.

“I… you weren’t supposed to know,” Clint said suddenly, and James growled at that, pushing Clint away. Clint went easily, falling back in shock as James climbed to his feet. Clint stared up at him, his jaw clenched and his mouth tense and James felt so incredibly stupid for a breathtaking moment.

“You lied to me,” James said, and finally Clint moved at that, getting to his feet and reaching out slowly to James. James recoiled, his muscle tense and tight, and Clint immediately backed off but looked increasingly troubled. “You… all of this… the room and the… the dancing and the staying up with me it… it wasn’t for me, it was for him,” James said, his voice scratchy, and Clint suddenly looked pained and just a touch angry.

“James, you giant fuck, that’s not true,” Clint said partially desperately and partially indignant.

“Yeah, you were Bucky before, and yeah Bucky… meant something to me, but I know you aren’t him and I don’t expect you to be him. You have got to know that,” Clint said fiercely. James wanted to believe him. Felt like he could if he shut his eyes for long enough. He chose to instead glared at him through his hair.

“If I were to turn back tomorrow, tell me you wouldn’t be happy,” James said lowly, a warning growl in his voice. Clint stared at him, his eyes wide and hurt and unbelievably sad, the anger receding slightly with shock at the question, but he didn’t answer; that was answer enough for James.

“That’s what I thought,” James said, and moved towards the bedroom door. Clint moved with him, his face scrunched up with something like pain.

“James, wait, I like you just as much you stupid prick-“ Clint began, angry again, and James snapped. He whirled around, his eyes fiery, and Clint took a step back, looking surprised and just a touch fearful at the sudden violent movement. James couldn’t help but feel slightly vindicated at the expression.

“Don’t lie to me!” he growled out, and Clint swallowed hard, his throat bobbing even if he attempted to hold a fierce expression despite the fear. Whatever satisfaction James felt at scaring the other man suddenly drained out of him and all he felt was tired. He sighed and rubbed his face. “Just… if you ever really respected me at all… just leave me alone,” James growled finally, shaking his head as he turned his back and moved towards the bedroom.

He shut the door behind him and locked it, knowing full well that Clint could pick it if he really wanted too. He slumped back against the wall he had been leaning on before and sighed out, resting his head on his knees once again. He was half expecting Clint to give in a pick the lock after a few moments, to come in and make more excuses. But he didn’t. James spent the night alone.

He wasn’t sure if he was grateful or not that Clint actually listened to him for once.

***

Clint hated this.

He threw the ball into the air and caught it with one hand, his gaze distant as he stared at the ceiling. Three weeks he had been practically banished from his room. Three weeks of James avoiding him as much as he could, his gaze dark should Clint ever catch it. It stung, partially because he missed James, and partially because of the guilt.

Clint hadn’t thought there was ever a chance Bucky would remember, let alone James. Of all the things to get shaken loose while James discovered himself, he hadn’t expected it to be this. Never this. And how he handled it left a few things to be desired, but Clint wasn’t sure if he’d ever been that desperately angry before.

Given that Clint had plenty of time on his hands due to their mutual avoidance, he had a lot of time to think. It made him suddenly so much more aware of how close Bucky and James really were, and he began to wonder if perhaps, subconsciously, James was right; if Clint really was just waiting for Bucky to reappear. Clint didn’t want that to be true, to be that much of a hypocrite; he thought he of all people should know better, but he was just enough of an asshole to not know better at all.

He caught the ball and grimaced at it. James had been so angry and hurt and distraught. And to be completely fair, why shouldn’t he had been? He had figured out that Clint had kept something important from him. Something huge. Clint could try and rationalize why he did it: that it shouldn’t matter, that that’s not who James wanted to be, that he was never supposed to remember anyways. But the truth? He hadn’t wanted James to know. He hadn’t wanted to look James in the eye and tell him what Bucky really meant and for James to feel disgusted at Bucky’s actions, as he did when he remembered being the Winter Soldier. He didn’t think he could take regret from James about him, as selfish as it was.

But what had actually happened? Way worse.

He pressed the ball against his forehead and shook his head. He wanted to believe that James wouldn’t ice him out forever, but James was as stubborn as they come. Clint supposed this must be some sort of karmic justice, having everything continually blow up in his face like this.

There was suddenly the feeling of nails digging into his ankle and he hissed, kicking his foot out a little and pulling the ball away from his face, scowling. Natasha was standing over the back of the couch, looking at him with one unamused eyebrow raised.

“What? I got something on my face?” he grumbled, moving to throw the ball up again. Natasha snatched it out of the air easily as soon as the ball left his fingers and Clint let out an offended squawk.

“I’m tired of your moping. My couch was made for more important things,” Natasha said, her voice gently teasing, but a hint of concern hidden in her voice that had Clint tensing up slightly. He pursed his lips and shrugged, throwing his arms behind his head.

“What can I say? Your couch is comfy, Nat. Mind if I make a home here?” Clint asked, snuggling down further into it, before yelping when Natasha moved around the side to shove his legs off and take a seat, crossing her legs. He rolled his eyes at her, but all she did was shrug and lean back.

“You have not been to your room in ten days. And before that you only entered for a few minutes at a time,” Natasha said. Clint snorted.

“If you spied on me anymore, I’d think you were in love with me,” Clint snarked, but Natasha didn’t rise to the bait.

“You have fought with him. It was bound to happen. He remembered you,” Natasha said, and Clint looked up at her sharply. She looked back at him with her eyes crossed. “Am I wrong?” she asked, and he cursed her, because she knew she wasn’t wrong, but she wanted him to say it. She always wanted him to say it.

“Yeah,” Clint finally huffed out, shaking his head. “Yeah, that’s about it. He’s pissed as hell. ‘M tired of seeing him glare at me until I leave, so I just stay gone,” Clint said, shrugging one shoulder and trying to play off how much he felt and was cowardly to do so.

Natasha hummed, but thankfully didn’t call him on it. “And have you apologized?” she asked. Clint blinked slowly, before he cast his eyes to the side slightly, scratching the side of his face sheepishly.

“I’ve left him alone. I don’t want to make things worse. He was doing so well before I fucked it all up,” Clint said, staring down at his knees, before hissing as strong fingers flicked him in the side of the head.

“Easy on the merch, Nat!” he complained, but Natasha just frowned at him.

“You need to do that. It will end this stupid disagreement and get you out of my room.” Natasha said, and Clint grinned at her to hide the sudden flush of panic at just the thought of trying to speak to James again.

“Aw, you really want to get rid of your bestie, Nat? I’m hurt,” Clint said, but Natasha just shook her head, and Clint huffed, frustrated. “What do you want me to say Natasha? I don’t want to speak to him. I don’t want to try and… and have him…” he trailed off, clenching his fingers into fists. He should’ve known better than to form a bond so dependent on either of them, Bucky or James. It was stupid and now he was paying for it.

Natasha was silent for several beats, and Clint refused to meet her eyes, scared of what he would see there. But then suddenly, a calloused hand was slipping into his, and he looked up. Natasha was smiling just a touch as she squeezed his hand.

“If he means this much to you, Clint, then I think it’s worth the risk,” she said softly. Her gently earnestly surprised him a touch, but before he could comment, she pulled away and move towards her bedroom and shut the door. Clint stared after her, stunned for a moment, before he looked back down at his hands, flexing his fingers carefully.

_If he means this much to you, then it’s worth the risk._

And what did James mean to Clint, exactly? Hope? Redemption? Was he projecting how lost he felt after being so brutally violated? Clint had a feeling all of the above were most likely true, as much as it irked him, but there was also a niggle in the back of his mind that told him that James meant more than that to him. That Clint cared about him. Deeply, probably more so then he should. And maybe that was because he was partially Bucky, but Clint knew that wasn’t the whole reason either. He cared about every part of James, even the new parts, and Natasha was right, he was worth the risk. Clint wanted James, in any way he could have him.

He stood quickly, his face screwing up with determination. He needed to talk to James before he lost his nerve because he was sure within the next two minutes all of his super solid reasoning would be blindsided by nerves and fear.

And of course, just as he was asking JARVIS to take him to his floor, the call to assemble was blared throughout the tower. Clint cursed. Fucking hell, the timing of the washed-out villains that skulked around Manhattan was getting damn annoying. He’d just have to hope he still had the courage when he got back.

Knowing his cowardly emotional streak, he wasn’t sure how possible that would be.

***

James glanced up at the speakers as the Avengers were alerted to yet another problem occurring in the heart of New York. His traitorous thoughts couldn’t help but immediately think of Clint, and he cursed himself for it. He shoved the impulse away, reaching out to hold Lucky.

James knew, as much as he hated to admit it, that he was hiding out on Clint’s floor out of a bit of pettiness (the Winter Soldier, petty? James couldn’t help but feel ever so amused). It didn’t help that he also had nowhere else to go where he wouldn’t be bother.

And as a bonus, Lucky was here with him too. It was perfect. The dog had kept him company while he was _thinking_ in Clint’s room. Because that’s what James was doing: _thinking._ Steve would call it sulking because he was a little shit, but James wasn’t sulking. He was just thinking.

The anger he felt at Clint had faded by the time a week had passed taking up Clint’s space and keeping the other man out of it. The next two were spent avoiding him out of fear; he had never had to fear Clint’s expectations of him. It was ironic in a way. The Winter Soldier, taken down by a PTSD ridden archer who hadn’t _technically_ done anything wrong to him. James had remembered the situation from before. He knew there was no reason for him to remember something he willingly gave up, and he found if he thought about it, he couldn’t really fault Clint for keeping it from him.

But despite knowing that, he still couldn’t stop thinking about Clint’s ulterior motives. He had been lied to and manipulated to do any number of things, and while he knew logically that probably wasn’t the case with Clint, the paranoia kept him from seeking Clint out to get more answers. He didn’t want to be used to replace Bucky.

And that thought stung, firstly because he had thought Clint understood the distinction James was trying so hard to make, but secondly because he wasn’t sure if he would mind being a replacement in the first place. What would Clint do if he opened up to him and took the comfort James found he so desperately wanted recently? Would James let him do it even if Clint thought of someone else? Would James even care?

He didn’t like thinking that way. He didn’t like wanting. He wasn’t even sure if he was ready to want someone like this. But Clint wasn’t just someone, and maybe that’s what made this whole thing so hard.

He pressed his forehead to his knees, trying to process the swirl of conflicting emotions boiling in his stomach. He wished he had someone to talk to, like Steve, but Steve was a whole other mess he wasn’t sure he wanted to bring into this. Talking with him was less strained the more they saw each other, even if Steve slipped up sometimes and made it awkward for the both of them.

Despite that, however, talking to him about the past was soothing sometimes. Steve would take on a wistful dreamy look, and James could relate, thinking of hot Brooklyn summers chasing down ice cream carts with whatever coins they managed to scrounge up between the two of them. Sharing treats and taking a short reprieve before escaping to the waters to keep cool. Reminiscing was nice, but talks of the present and future were harder, as much as Steve tried.

There was suddenly the sound of the elevator stopping at Clint’s floor and he couldn’t help but tense up a little. He wondered if Clint was stopping by to say goodbye to him, even though he had not heard Clint on the floor for over a week. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Part of him wanted Clint to come to the door, to ask for James to let him in, but part of him wanted Clint to stay away. Sometimes he longed for the lack of fear he felt as the Winter Soldier. He felt cowardly so often now.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, and James tense, keeping his jaw clenched tight as he dug his fingers into Lucky’s fur. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to face him.

“Uhm, James? It’s, uh, Bruce? Banner? I brought you something to eat,” a hesitant voice called through the door, and James felt his face scrunch up slightly in confusion and just a touch of disappointment that he ignored. The doctor? He had never spoken to him before, only saw him in passing. His presence troubled James some, but it was not Clint, and James would never turn down a meal, considering most of his meals while locked down on the floor and avoiding Clint were brought to him by JARVIS and mostly consisted of protein bars and shakes.

James climbed to his feet and made his way to the bedroom door, swinging it open in one hard pull. The doctor jolted a little bit at the suddenness of the action, before he smiled at James a little nervously, holding out the plate with a lopsided sandwich on it. James stared at it for a moment, before he took it slowly. He considered shutting the door on the doctor, but Lucky was already brushing by his legs and heading towards the couch, so James relented and followed the dog sedately into the living room.

He expected the doctor to leave, especially when James did not thank him, but instead the doctor came around and watched as James put the plate on the end table and picked it up to take a bite. James couldn’t help but feel the gaze acutely on his face as he tried to eat, and he was starting to get unnerved by the doctor’s hovering.

After a few uncomfortable moments, James set the sandwich down and laced his fingers together. “Why are you still here doctor? I thought the Avengers were gone,” James said, his voice stiff and the doctor straightened up as the silence was broken, fidgeting with his hands a little bit. James tracked the nervous movements carefully, even though he knew the man wasn’t a threat.

“It wasn’t really a code green, and I’m not much use out there if I’m not the big guy,” the doctor said, his voice quiet and sounded distant, as if he was thinking about something else. He seemed to be struggling to make a decision, and James almost wanted to ask him to leave because his nerves were putting James on edge.

Abruptly, he said,” Have you and Clint been fighting? I.. haven’t see you around and Clint has been particularly surly.” The doctor looked a little embarrassed about asking, and James felt himself beginning to bristle defensively.

The doctor seemed to pick up on it and quickly held up his hands. “It’s not my place to pry. You don’t know me but… I know what it’s like. To have a part of you you wish didn’t exist. A part that’s hurt people and you had no control over it,” the doctor said. He looked away for a moment, before he took a deep steadying breath. He took another second before he looked back at James, who had frozen. “I know our situations aren’t the exact same but… when this,” Bruce gestured to the whole of himself nervously, “happened to me, I thought that was the end of everything I had before, family, friends, home, because I was dangerous and I wasn’t me. And for a time that was true. I was just the Hulk. I was dangerous and wrong and I didn’t think I could ever really be Bruce Banner ever again. I have to watch my temper constantly, or else just like that I could snap. It’s exhausting, and for me and everyone else I’m around.”

Bruce cast his gaze to the side once more, shuffling his feet. James sat stiffly on the couch, unsure what to do with the onslaught of such personal information, yet also unsure how to say this to the doctor. But Banner saved him from asking as he looked directly into James’s face and held contact, his brown eyes suddenly incredibly fierce.

“But I was wrong,” he said, and James tilted his head to the side. He wasn’t expecting that, and he found himself suddenly curious, if still mildly uncomfortable. “Yes, I was changed forever, and I can never go back, but being here, having this purpose with these people… it made me realize that that might not be a completely awful thing. I have friends, I have family, and they might not say it unless its Thor, but in their own way, they love me. Bruce Banner and the other guy. I might not like it much myself, but they do, and I won’t try to convince them they’re wrong,” Bruce said quietly, before his eyes softened just a touch. “I’m not just the Hulk, and I’m not just Bruce Banner. I didn’t realize that who I had become was just important as who I was before.”

James stared at him stunned, his jaw clenched tightly. Bruce stared back, his gaze heavy, before he suddenly shook himself and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Anyways, I’ve got a lot I need to do in my lab, especially now that Tony’s away. I, um, hope the sandwich is alright,” the doctor said, shooting him a small smile, before he made his way back to the elevator, his posture just a little less nervous than when he first appeared.

James stared after him, before he turned back to the end table in front of him, his appetite suddenly gone. He felt sick as he looked at it, the doctor’s words swirling through his mind and making his stomach rock uncomfortably.

_Who I had become was just as important as who I was before._

James was James. He knew that. But perhaps he… he could also be Bucky. Maybe Bucky wasn’t just the second of the Howling Commando’s, best friend of Steve Rogers and past lover of Clint Barton. Maybe Bucky was a man who had been through hell and had made it. Who was here, back with people who still wanted him, as who he was now.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad that Clint and Steve wanted Bucky, because he was still Bucky. He had always been him. James pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, flinching slightly as the metal touched his face.

He had spent so long rejecting his past that the thought he could’ve been wrong sat uncomfortably in his chest. He gripped his face tightly.

He had to talk to Clint.

***

Clint was irritated but resigned when he was finally released from the medical wing with a strict directive not to do anything too active and to sit on his ass for the next few weeks while the bones in his dominant hands fixed themselves. Normally Clint would relish the idea of being lazy, but considering he didn’t have a place to laze about, per say, he was less than enthused to say the least.

It had been a simple mission, straightforward and to the point, until the building they were scoping out blew up in their faces.

Literally. What was with Hydra and booby trapping their stupid warehouses?

Clint couldn’t help but thing of 127 hours as he had taken sight of his pinned hand, the pain sharp and radiating steadily up his arm. From what he could feel, he knew it was most definitely broken in some place, and he could only hope it didn’t cause any permanent damage. Not to the hand he ate cereal with.

He was lucky was what he was. He had only been in the hospital because of the moderate concussion he had suffered in the blast, which was mildly annoying to say the least. He had been hit in the time a fuck ton; there was no need for him to stay in the medical wing but did anyone listen to him? No, of course they didn’t. He felt sticky and gross and tired as he rode up to his floor. All he wanted was a hot shower and a long nap. He wasn’t sure he could deal with anything else being thrown at him for the next week.

Which was why that just had to be the day James was out of Clint’s room and sitting on the couch with his hands clasped in front of him. His forehead was resting against his knuckles, and his face was scrunched up with pain. Despite the fact that James was still majorly pissed at him, Clint found himself wanted to offer some sort of comfort. It made him hover awkwardly in the side of James’s field of vision, which had the other man jerking up to stare at him as soon as Clint tried to shift out of it. Clint stared back, suddenly feeling wide awake.

For the first time in a few weeks, James’s eyes weren’t furious and betrayed as he looked at Clint. They were blank save for just a touch of worry he could read in the way James’s eyes flickered over the cast covering his hand and the mess that was his face. Clint felt something warm in his stomach. He recalled Natasha’s words, and he felt just a touch more nervous at the thought. Apologizing. Right. He should probably do that.

“I heard you had been injured,” James said suddenly, and Clint stared in surprise. Picking up on the subtleties of James’s expressions was a far cry from James voicing it himself. It was so vastly different from the ice he had treated Clint to and Clint wasn’t exactly sure what to do with the complete one eighty in James’s demeanor.

“’S nothing. Everyone likes to blow everything up bigger than it is. I’ve had worse tumbles when I was a kid,” Clint sniffed, shrugging one of his shoulders, before he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m just… gonna shower. I’ve been dying for one for two days now, sooo, yeah, I’m just gonna go,” Clint said, cringing a little bit at the stilted rhythm of his words. If James picked up on it, he didn’t say anything about it. Just nodded stiffly. Clint could feel his eyes on his back the whole way to his bathroom.

He let out a sigh as he shut the door behind him and finally stripped out of his clothes, wincing at the aches he could feel in his muscles, yet relishing the feeling of a job well done. He didn’t want to think about the mission, he didn’t want to think about whatever the hell was happening with James, he just didn’t want to think for a few moments. Shower time was Clint time, damnit.

Clint was sure that the shower he took had to rank in the top five longest showers he had ever taken, and that was saying something, considering Clint’s record. It had been a shitty few days. Hell, a shitty few weeks. And as he looked in the steam fogged mirror as he stepped out of the shower, it definitely seemed to show on his face. His eyes appeared sunken in, his one swollen from the blow he had caught with his face. The side of his face was scratched up where he was hit by falling debris, and his five o clock shadow was unruly even for Clint. He rubbed his chin with his non dominant hand, lamenting his inability to shave. For a blinding moment, Clint considered asking James to help. Clint began to dismiss it, before he paused. He wanted James to trust him again, just like Clint trusted him completely. He rubbed his hand along the bristles on his jaw once more, before he turned to leave the bathroom, his heart beginning to beat at a slightly quicker tempo. He pulled on a shirt and boxers as delicately as he could muster before he walked into the living room with a purpose, his eyebrows set.

James was where he left him, sitting on the couch with his fingers laced together. Clint admired the handsome silhouette James made, even if the slope of his shoulders was a hint somber, before he cleared his throat. James looked up slowly, almost warily, and Clint took in a steadying breath.

“I need your help shaving,” Clint said, gesturing to the mess that was his face. James stared at him, the only outward expression of surprise given was the slight widening of his eyes. Clint lifted his chin almost definitely, and James just continued to stare.

“I am angry at you. I am a trained assassin. I’ve tried to kill you. You trust me with a sharp object by your throat?” James asked. His was attempting a neutral tone, but the hitch of his voice gave away how much he was unsettled by the prospect. It only made Clint more sure this was the right choice. He needed to be vulnerable, just like he made James feel. It was the only way he could show him what he was too scared to say aloud yet.

“’course I do, idiot. I’d trust you with my life even if you weren’t super skilled at eliminating threats,” Clint said easily, perhaps a little indelicately in his attempt at nonchalance. James lips parted slightly for a beat, before he closed them firmly and stood slowly. He said nothing, but he wasn’t running away or yelling at him. Clint watched him for a moment, before he slowly turned and walked back into his bathroom. He didn’t turn around to see if James was actually following because Jesus, he wasn’t that desperate (he was), but that didn’t stop him from feeling relieved when he turned and James was there, hovering, his conflicted expression hidden slightly by his hair.

Clint shuffled around longer than he needed, if only to collect his thoughts. He had done this impulsively; he was trying to fix things. He wanted so badly to fix things, but now he was worried James didn’t want them to be fixed. If as soon as James helped him, he’d disappear like before. Clint forced himself to take a breath to calm his racing heart, before made a triumphant noise as he pulled out his shaving cream and his razor. He grinned a little bit and shook them at James, who blinked at him, before taking them automatically as Clint passed them into his hands. Clint gave him a crooked smile, moving to sit on the edge of his tub, tilting his face up to James.

“Help a brother out James, and then you can go back to ignoring me,” Clint said, trying to keep his voice light and teasing. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded, but James didn’t say anything as he slowly and carefully sprayed shaving cream into his flesh hand and moving towards Clint.

Neither of them mentioned that Clint could easily apply the shaving cream himself, and for that, Clint was grateful. Clint watched as James focused in on his face, using his flesh hand to smear the shaving cream along Clint’s jaw and chin. His touch was gentle, gentler than Clint was expecting, and even though the shaving cream was cool, he could still feel the heat of James’s hand through it. It was nice, and Clint almost wanted to lean into it the touch and the warmth. It was thrilling, to have a hand so strong touch him like this, but he forced himself to refrain from doing something stupid like nuzzling his palm or blurting something personal 

Clint kept his eyes on James’s face, even as the other man kept his eyes firmly on what his hands were doing. When he turned to grab the razor, he continued to keep his eyes cast slightly to the side, away from Clint’s, his expression minutely tense and uncomfortable. Clint watched as James fiddled with the razor, his experienced fingers gripping the handle with ease, his hands steady despite the fact that he looked unsettled. Clint paused for a moment, before he twisted his legs around until they were in the bathtub, effectively turning his back on James. He hunched slightly forward in the bathtub, all of his senses on high alert. It made the other man freeze behind him.

“You shouldn’t leave your back to me,” James said quietly after a few beats of tense silence, but he was much closer than he was before, the fabric of his t-shirt just barely brushing Clint’s back. It was all at once soothing and overwhelming, and he had to force himself to breathe.

“I trust you. You won’t hurt me,” Clint said steadily, before he tilted his head to the side. James was quiet for a moment more, before Clint felt a cool touch on the side of his face. He realized with a start that James was steadying his head with his metal hand. He marveled at the initiated touch, before James’s other hand came around with the razor.

James hesitated only a moment before he gently placed the razor against his skin and ran it along his jaw line, the pressure smooth and even. Clint shut his eyes as James continued to work, the man’s movements growing surer as he continued to shave Clint carefully. Clint kept his injured hand in his lap, trying not to think about how this brief moment of intimacy didn’t fix anything. That displaying himself like this wasn’t a guarantee that they could ever understand each other. He didn’t want to think about any of that; he just wanted to enjoy the fact that James hadn’t run from him yet.

There was silence from the both of them as James worked, one Clint wouldn’t break, not for anything. The silence was so delicate, as thinly stretched as the moment and he didn’t want to be the one to fuck it up. Not this time at least.

Suddenly there was a hand on Clint’s shoulder tugging gently and he felt the muscles in his back twitch at the sudden touch.

“Turn,” James rumbled quietly, his voice scratchy and deep in a way that made Clint’s skin tingle as he did as he was told, slowly swinging his legs around to face James. James didn’t miss a beat, slowly stepping into the space Clint made with his legs and bringing his hand up to steady Clint’s face again. This time, Clint couldn’t close his eyes even if he wanted to. He stared up at James as if he’d never see him again, watching the way his gaze focused onto his work, the scrap of the razor only adding to the feeling of danger he got watching James in his element, like staring into the sun.

Clint began to grow restless as James began to finish up, carefully shaving where his mustache would be before setting the razor aside. Clint was prepared for James to step back fully, to go back to closed off and cool, but much to Clint’s surprise, James’s metal hand stayed on his face. His gaze was slightly troubled as his eyes flitted up to meet Clint’s, and Clint couldn’t help but feel his breath catch under the intensity of his expression.

Clint felt the metal thumb drag carefully along his cheek bone and his body sang at the subtle sign of affection. It made Clint’s eyes widen slightly and he couldn’t quiet fight the heat that rushed to his face.

“James,” Clint said, his voice trembling minutely. Clint wanted to crack a joke, make light of the situation, but the moment was so fragile, Clint was sure it would break if he were to speak up.

“Bucky,” James suddenly said abruptly. Clint tense a little bit, wondering if they were really going to have it out now, with James still between his legs and Clint a certified mess before him. But then James continued, “I… I want you to call me Bucky.”

This time, he felt the air in his lungs whoosh out of his chest with surprise.

James- Bucky?! – stared at him, his eyes guarded and judging from the tick in his jaw, nervous, and Clint couldn’t help but ask softly, “What changed?”

Because since coming back as the Winter Soldier, James wanted nothing to do with Bucky despite the fact that he was curious about his past. There was conflict there Clint vaguely understood, but was so twisted around that he wasn’t sure how James was trying to rationalize it all in his head. But it wasn’t for Clint to understand; it was for him to accept, and that’s what he had done, until this.

James looked away for a moment, before back at him, his eyes hard with determination and just a touch of uncertainty. “I realized something. When we weren’t…” he trailed off, before he picked up, “I don’t want to keep ignoring what happened. What changed me and who I was before I… it’s as much of who I am as what changed me. I’m… I’m Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier, and I want to… I want to be okay with that,” Bucky said, his breath leaving him slowly after his confession, looking physically exhausted and conflicted by the admission. “I’m not yet, I don’t know when I will be but I… I want to try.”

Clint stared with shock and awe and something close to hope. Not for him, but for Bucky, who had come so far. Whose entire world was turned upside down and then right side up and back upside down in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Clint wasn’t sure how to voice what he was feeling right now, so instead, he leaned his face into Bucky’s metal palm. Bucky’s hand flexed lightly against his cheek, a twitch that Clint couldn’t quite read because his head was swimming.

“I’m sorry,” he suddenly blurted, before rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly with his good hand. “I’m sorry about… about keeping… _that_ from you. I just didn’t want you to feel… I dunno, pressured or something. I wanted to get to know James, whether he was Bucky or just the Winter Soldier,” Clint said quietly. “You deserved someone to have your back after everything you have been through. I wanted you to have at least a friend who didn’t look at you strangely because of what happened I… just wanted to treat you like your own person, cause I know what it’s like to feel like you’re not” Clint finished lamely, feeling a little dumb saying it out loud. If anything, however, Bucky’s eyes were a little brighter as he finished explaining himself.

They stared at each other in silence for a few beats, before something shifted ever so slightly in Bucky’s gaze. They darkened, and Clint couldn’t stop himself from shivering, realizing suddenly how vulnerable he still was, how dangerous Bucky could be, and not only physically. But it wasn’t fear that jolted through him. It was more like excitement, like watching a storm roll in and feeling thrilled in anticipation of the thunder.

Bucky carefully moved his metal hand to cup his freshly shaven jaw, his thumb brushing the corner of his mouth and Clint couldn’t help but part his lips slightly. Bucky didn’t miss the movement, Clint was sure of that, but he didn’t comment on it.

“I keep remembering you,” Bucky admitted quietly, and Clint felt his heart twist in his chest at the expression on his face. “I remember how happy you made me. How happy we were together. I remember even when I went back, I would dream about you. I had no idea who you were but now I know it was you.” Clint’s blinked at that, something warm sprouting in his stomach and curling up into his chest, threatening to choke him. _He had remembered me._

“I’m not who I am before. Who I am when I remember us but-“ Bucky cut himself off, his expression flickering for a moment, before he settled and breathed out. “But I still want you. Even before… I remembered. But I was scared, I wasn’t ready because I didn’t know what it was I really wanted. I-“ Bucky stopped again, and for the first time since he met Bucky again, the other man looked just a touch flustered, though he hid it well.

Clint’s mind was racing, unsure how to process what Bucky was saying to him. When they finally hashed out what had happened, this had not even occurred to Clint. Not in a million years. He never thought James would hint that maybe he wanted him. Like _that._ Like how he was remembering they were. Never.

So instead of trying to fumble through an explanation, Clint pushed off the edge of the tub and up to press his lips to Bucky’s.

Bucky tensed for just a moment, and Clint began to panic, wondering if he had suddenly ruined it, this perfect moment where they confessed _almost_ everything. It was too impulsive of move; too fast for this delicate understanding, and Clint cursed how little patience he actually had, as much as he liked to pretend it was overflowing. But then suddenly Bucky was relaxing and parting his lips slightly, his metal hand moving to grip his hip as his flesh hand came around to grasp the back of his neck. Clint twisted his good hand up in Bucky’s shirt and held fast. The rasp of Bucky’s beard against his smooth face was something new, but Bucky’s lips were familiar. It was like he remembered kissing Clint, like it was muscle memory to love him. God, he was kissing Bucky. Bucky. He never thought he’d get the chance to ever again.

The surge of emotion he felt at the thought made his eyes prickle uncomfortably, but Clint would be damned if he was going to cry now, not when he was getting every impossible thing he had ever want.

Bucky pulled back first, but Clint didn’t let him go far, keeping their foreheads pressed together and his eyes squeezed shut tightly.

“I needed you here with me. However I could have you. Bucky, James, fuck, if you told me your name was Arnold Schwarzenegger and you picked up a Russian accent I’d still need you,” Clint confessed, his throat swollen with something he didn’t want to name. He felt his chest tingling with the fear of laying himself so bare, but he couldn’t stand the thought of Bucky never knowing exactly how Clint felt. “I need you just like this, so goddamn you, please don’t… leave again,” Clint said fiercely and quietly, his whole body swaying into the places they were touching. Bucky’s metal hand tightened against his hip.

“I won’t,” Bucky promised firmly, his voice a growl. “But this is gonna be hell Clint I’m-“ there were so many ways Bucky could finish that sentence. Broken. Wrong. Confused. Not the same. But Clint didn’t care. Not then, and sure as hell not now.

“It’s like you said. You’re Bucky Barnes and the Winter Soldier, and I want everything. Everything Bucky. I’m not scared. How could I be scared? I’m a super spy,” Clint breathed, the corners of his mouth twitch with amusement. Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, before he was mirroring the tiny smile as he surged forwards again to press their mouths together again. This one was more intoxicating and fierce. As if Bucky was trying to make up for seventy lost years in one mind melting kiss. Clint held on for the ride, going where Bucky coaxed him, leaning into him as Bucky’s hands slide around to the backs of his thighs before suddenly he was being lifted into the air. He yelped, flailing a little before he instinctively wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist.

“Holy shit,” Clint breathed, and he felt Bucky’s lips quirk up against the side of his face where he had pressed his lips when Clint pulled away. Bucky’s long hair tickled his neck and he shuddered. “Super soldier now. How could I forget?” he said breathlessly as Bucky began to steer them out of the bathroom. “This is both incredibly hot and completely emasculating,” he said as Bucky laid him down on the bed he hadn’t used in months. The bed smelled completely of Bucky and he sank into it as the other man kneeled on the bed next to him, pressing short and suddenly sweet kisses to his mouth, before he wordlessly rolled Clint over onto his side and spooned up behind his back. Bucky tucked his knees behind Clint’s and pressed his nose into Clint’s neck. It was so reminiscent of the way Bucky held him before that Clint almost choked, but he didn’t, simply leaning back into his chest and relishing the minute differences he picked up. The coolness of the metal arm shoved under his head. The way Bucky’s long hair gently brushed against his neck. It kept him grounded as he threatened to float off.

“Rest. You’re injured,” Bucky growled out, the surly demeanor returning with an abruptness that had Clint barking out a laugh.

“You’re a tease, Barnes,” Clint said, pursing his lips, and he felt Bucky’s lips twitch against his neck, but he refrained from answering.

Clint felt his breathing slowly match Bucky’s as they laid together. Clint was going to be majorly pissed if he woke up from a coma and none of this shit had actually happened.

But as Clint drifted to sleep in a grip so tight it was almost crushing him, he had a feeling this just might be the real deal.

***

Bucky was right. It wasn’t going to be easy. That was evident alone by the way Clint woke up with Bucky vomiting into the toilet violently. But this time, instead of listening to Bucky from the other room, unsure if he was allowed to enter, he rolled out of bed and gently pushed the door open.

Bucky’s hands were gripping the sides of the bowl, his arms shuddering, and Clint gently put his hand on his shoulder. The other man tensed under his touch, trying to hide his face, but Clint just calmly pulled back his hair.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said softly. Clint wasn’t sure if Bucky believed him, but the man began trembling less all the same.

There were also times when Bucky would rush to shut him out and pull away without warning, disappearing into his head to a place where Clint couldn’t follow much to his frustration. But Clint knew what it was like, to need time to process, to need just a moment to be vulnerable just for himself.

That didn’t make it any easier.

 But despite that, Things were… okay. Good even. Great.

The day Tony decided Bucky shouldn’t have to be babysat on every floor was certainly an interesting day for Clint. Bucky disappeared from morning until evening. Clint could’ve asked JARVIS, but Bucky deserved his space, after everything. The last thing Clint wanted to do was take away some of Bucky’s agency like some over protective mother hen. He was way to badass to be a mother hen. He instead spent the evening attempting to best Natasha on the mats, which was hard thing when he was focused, and impossible when he wasn’t.

“You’re distracted,” Natasha said after pinning him for the fifteenth time, and Clint grumbled a little bit as he pulled himself to his feet, rubbing his aching shoulder blades lightly.

“What gave it away?” he asked sarcastically, and Natasha raised one trim eyebrow. He mockingly raised one back at her, which he knew was a mistake even as he did it, and was thus unsurprised but still mortified when her hand shot out and pulled the collar of his shirt over to reveal his shoulder 

“You’ve been busy,” she commented as she bared the mottling bruise in the shape of teeth marks on his shoulder, and Clint scowled as he batted her away. He rubbed his shoulder gently and wondered if he could ignore Natasha for the rest of his natural life. It technically wasn’t his fault Bucky didn’t quite know how to control his strength when Clint was grinding himself down into his lap like the little shit he was.

“I know you’ve never heard of it, Natasha, but there is something called a learning curve and we are working on it,” he said, even though he really didn’t mind the markings at all. In fact, part of him felt a thrill at it. Clint never thought he would be the kind to enjoy watching himself blossom with bruises, but knowing they came from Bucky and not some rando villain made it sweet like honey in his mind. Natasha took the hint and backed off, even though there was still a glint of amusement in her eyes.

“I’m glad to see this side of you again, Clint,” she said affectionately, and that was the last thing she said about it before she took him brutally to the mat again.

When Bucky crawled into their bed later that night, his flesh arm coming around to trap Clint against him, Clint rolled over and pinched his ribs, which seemed to do nothing to the super soldier who remained still where he was laying.

“Where were you all day?” Clint asked sleepily, and Bucky stared at him in the searching way he did, his eyes bright in the darkness.

“I was in Tony’s lab. He was looking at my arm,” Bucky said quietly, and Clint couldn’t help but wake a little more at that, his eyes wide. Bucky hated talking about his arm, hating thinking about what it had done. And yet-

“That’s good,” Clint settled for. Before continuing, “I’m glad he could give you a hand.”

Bucky gave him a dark look and Clint couldn’t help but shake with quiet laughter that slowly but surely turned into cackling, shuddering as he placed his forehead on Bucky’s collar bone. He could feel Bucky’s sigh, but his hand came up to hold Clint closer all the same.

“You are six years old,” Bucky growled out, his voice dark yet amused, and Clint let out an offended gasp.

“Six and a half, asshole.”

Clint supposed he deserved the pinch in the side for that one, but did it really have to be with his metal fingers? Bastard. It was a wonder they ever got to sleep at night.

Being up and around also meant more Avenger time with Bucky. Clint would feel bad for him, but he was too amused watching Thor attempt to gain his favor by sharing Pop-Tarts with him and regaling Bucky with tales of Asgard. And, to give Bucky credit, he didn’t seem to mind it much. He ate half of a Pop-Tart and set it to the side, but putting up with Thor’s grandiose speech and gesticulations didn’t seem to bother him much. In fact, it was almost like he enjoyed it.

Nor did he seem to mind much of the others either. He didn’t speak much to Bruce, but it seemed that they got along fine without having to speak, and Clint couldn’t help but feel that something had happened that he had no idea about, but found he didn’t want to pry at the same time.

Natasha was different, of course. They each knew each other from a different time, and it was like no matter where they saw each other, it was like being back in a place neither of them ever wanted to go. It would take time, Clint knew that, but he was hopeful. They both seemed to know how to put up with him so what else could give two people something more perfect to bitch about?

Clint didn’t know much about how he was handling things with Tony and Steve, but he didn’t bother asking. All he knew was that days were Bucky was gone were days Bucky spent with either one of them, and he always came back looking relaxed. Clint didn’t really care about the nitty gritty of everything Bucky did anyways.

And just when things were settling down as much as things could ever settle down in the tower, Nick Fury arrives, alive and looking untouched. Natasha seemed to be the only one not surprised, and from the look on Steve’s face as Natasha greets Fury calmly, it seemed she was going to get a classic Captain America lecture later. It made him want to stick his tongue out at her in a childish way that he refrained from doing. He’d do it later; he still can’t believe she didn’t let him in on her top secret, secret! Traitor, honestly.

All childish delight left him as soon as Nick Fury started to talk about the Trial. Yes, Clint thought about it with a capital T.

It was an insanely stupid technicality that Fury insisted on, even more so when he was told that Clint and Steve were already pushing to reintroduce Bucky back into society as fast as Bucky was willing to take it.

“He’s a wanted assassin, brain washing or no. He will stand on trial for his crimes, and be judged accordingly,” he had said impassively, and Clint wanted to deck him. It was Bucky, not some ‘wanted assassin,’ and that made it different. And yet, when he was ranting about it to Bucky later after Steve had walked through what exactly Bucky was going to be put up to to Bucky himself, he looked at Clint firmly and said, “I think it’s a good idea.”

Clint stopped at that, staring at him as if he had lost his mind. “Are you crazy? They could put you away! For life! Probably longer!” Clint said, but Bucky just gritted his jaw and lifted his chin in that stupidly determined way Clint loved to hate when they were arguing.

“If you’re so sure about my innocence, then I’m sure others will see it too,” Bucky said with a sureness Clint didn’t feel. But then his expression turned away from him a little and he said quietly, “I need to do this Clint.”

Clint understood guilt, how awful it felt to hear that he had done nothing wrong when feeling as if that was the exact opposite. To wish that people would stop defending him when he didn’t have the right, and suddenly all the fight left Clint’s body.

Bucky needed more than the absolution anyone could give him in the tower. And Clint couldn’t fault him that.

Clint let out a deep sigh through his nose and flopped down on the couch next to Bucky, who shifted a little to make room. “You can’t ever do things by halves can you, you dramatic bitch,” Clint moaned, and Bucky looked at him with an unamused expression that had Clint snorting and brushing hair away from his face.

“Before this trial business we gotta make you look less like serial killer,” Clint said thoughtfully, which resulted in Bucky snatching his hand away from his hair and scowling.

“I’m not cutting it,” he grumbled, and Clint snorted, drilling him in the arm with a knuckle, which did nothing to the other man, much to his displeasure.

“Fine, then we’re gonna give you a pretty little up do and fix the fucking patchy mess on your face. I can’t believe I’m the one that has to tell all of you this,” Clint bemoaned, and Bucky just rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath as Clint leaned pointedly into his side until Bucky pulled him closer and Clint curled up under the weight of it. “You watched me put on a shirt we both know smelled like onions to go to a press conference and yet I still have to tell you how to not scare the shit out of your jury. Unbelievable.”

Bucky blinked at him once, before he tilted his head to the side. “Then I guess we both need a little help,” he said, his lips turning up in a little smirk that had begun to appear more and more often. Clint snorted and shoved at his leg.

“We should probably get help for Thor too while we’re at it.”

“Do you think Tony would volunteer?”

“Not unless Steve sucks his dick first.”

Bucky flinched so violently at the crude image that Clint couldn’t help but let out a peel of laughter, shaking as he covered his face with his hands. Bucky was groaning as he rubbed the space between his eyebrows, but they were both smiling, so it had to mean something good.

***

As much as Bucky wanted to be nervous or angry about the trial, he could only feel relief. No matter which way it went, the burden he had been carrying around about getting away with all the terrible things he saw in his dreams would at least ease some.

Of course he didn’t want to be put away. Clint and Steve and the other residents of the tower seemed to think there was something there inside of him that was worth saving, but while the opinion of this particular handful of people mattered, especially to him, it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t sure if it would ever be enough, but the results of the trial would be a long way in easing his overwhelming guilt.

He felt a little bad at how fiercely the team was now working to make a compelling case for him. Tony was dissecting the files released about the workings of the chair and conditioning he was put through with the help of Natasha. Bruce was analyzing samples of his blood and comparing them to early Hydra experimental drugs that would support other forms of Hydra manipulation. Thor chose to investigate for signs of Tesseract involvement with the help of Clint, the only two who had technically known the object first hand. Everything that everyone was doing for him to help him stay free was overwhelming, and Bucky almost wanted to beg them off of such an impossible task. There was enough evidence on the internet alone to put him away for several lifetimes at least, and in all honesty, he knew there was a slim chance anyone would agree to keeping him out form behind bars. But Steve stopped him before he could ask them to stop.

“They want to help you, Bucky. You’re one of us now,” he had said with that earnest gaze he could remember so clearly. Bucky didn’t know how to take that, to hear their affection spoken so frankly when he didn’t quite deserve it, but he didn’t know how to word that to Steve either. So he grumbled a little but remained silent and let the others find evidence for his freedom.

He wasn’t sure how he had gained the affection of all of them so quickly. Why they did not hesitate to call them one of their own. Perhaps, once all of this passed, whether he was free or not, he would ask.

Since he had suddenly embraced his past, things with Steve, while not fixed, began to feel so much more natural. Bucky felt less defensive, and Steve more confident, enough that when Steve ribbed him about Clint, he had no problem giving it right back. The mortification yet strange delight on Steve’s face was definitely one of his favorite moments thus far in the tower. By the time the trial rolled around, Bucky was getting better at getting the upper hand on Steve again to wrangle him into a noogie just like old times.

Tony had shouted at them for being man-children the one time Steve had started something in his lab, but it was with a fondness Bucky was beginning to recognize.

Bucky had never expected to have any contact or knowledge about Tony Stark except what he learned through Steve and Clint, especially not after what he had done. But lucky for him, one of the first things Bucky learned about Tony Stark was his love of technology over all other things.

So when Bucky’s first choice when he was finally free to roam the tower was to show up at Tony’s lab, whether to apologize or ask about Steve or just exercise his right to be anywhere for once, he hadn’t been able to do any of that. Instead, Tony looked up at him and completely skipped over his face to stare at his arm.

“Please tell me you’re here so I can take a look at that thing,” Tony had said immediately, not even trying to be subtle. Bucky’s first instinct was to turn and run, or possible break Tony’s neck, but he forced those initial instincts down and shortly jerked his head yes. If he were being honest, he wasn’t sure if he would’ve ever allowed anyone to touch his shoulder again in any technical sense, but he was willing to do this for Tony. He was willing to make himself vulnerable to the son of the parents he had murdered so coldly for a shot at redemption. He didn’t know how Tony could stand to interact with the weapon that had technically murdered his parents, but interact he did. It almost made Bucky feel sick. It was moments like those, where Bucky marveled at how little he used to feel before.

It turned out that letting Tony work on his arm was a win-win. The appendage was no longer so unnecessarily heavy; most of the pain from the strain had disappeared in only a short few weeks after Tony had given him his new arm. The dexterity in his fingers had increased, and he was even more sensitive to pressure and temperature change then he had ever been before. He wasn’t even sure how to thank Tony; he couldn’t bring back his parents after all.

But when the billionaire had seen him struggling to make amends, he had brushed him off, although not unkindly. “It was more to satisfy my ego. No way could I let Hydra make something like a super robot arm and not one up them.” Bucky took it as an acceptance of his gratitude, as shitty as he was at showing it properly.

The trial inched slowly closer, and while Bucky felt remotely calm, it was clear Clint did not. But there wasn’t much to do about that except to lay where Clint pushed him and kiss him back when Clint kissed him.

Currently, Clint was running his fingers through his hair slowly. Bucky felt his eyelids flutter at the sensation, leaning his head back a little bit into Clint’s hand. He felt Clint chuckle behind him, and his own lips twitched in the hint of a smile. This had been the most relaxed Clint had seemed since the announcement of the trial, and he had no desire to break the stupor they had both fallen into.

“I bet you’d look real purdy with a fishtail braid,” Clint murmured quietly, and Bucky couldn’t help but snort a little.

“You sure it isn’t a lil too advanced for you?” Bucky teased gruffly, chuckling when Clint rapped the side of his head sharply, before soothing it with his hand again.

“I’m a super spy; of course I can give you a fishtail braid,” Clint said with determination, his fingers still moving through Bucky’s hair. Bucky shrugged his shoulder, but fell silent as Clint began to separate his hair into sections. He felt his eyes shutting against his will, his heart rate steadily slowing the longer Clint worked.

“I had sisters before,” he murmured suddenly, and he felt Clint pause a little bit, before he continued, slower this time. Clint didn’t say anything, and Bucky took that as a sign and felt compelled to continue.

“I want to look them up, but I’m not sure if I’m ready. I don’t know what I would do with the information anyways,” he said, humming softly as he felt Clint carefully tie his braid off and tilt his head back. Bucky opened his eyes and looked up at Clint, who was frowning just a little as he watched him closely.

“Take your time Buck. You don’t have to rush,” Clint said quietly, and Bucky shrugged a little, feeling open in a way that was almost uncomfortably, even though he knew Clint would never do anything too intentionally hurt him.

He said nothing, simply staring up at Clint, before he said, “I only said it because I’m sure I could braid my hair better than you.”

That caused Clint to smack his forehead. “You asshole! I slave over this work of art and that’s how you treat me?” he gasped. Bucky felt him arching his back so he could grab something just out of his reach, before he made a delighted noise. He settled back down before brandishing a mirror for Bucky to look at his hair in, Clint’s grin triumphant and proud.

The fishtail was lopsided and far from clean, but Bucky found he liked it that way, and kissed

Clint to let him know that.

***

They had won.

Bucky was cleared.

Bucky was free.

Or as free as he could be. So they had made the Avenger’s his handler; it wasn’t like that wasn’t exactly where he was going to stay anyways.

Clint’s head was floating what felt like high above everything as the judge gave the sentencing, and all he wanted to do was launch himself forward into the crowd of people to get to Bucky, who had turned his head to him almost immediately, his blue eyes flashing.

He had looked delicious in his three-piece suit, his hair pulled back at the base of his neck and his scruffy beard he had had trimmed to something more professional. He looked so much more alive standing there as Steve slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a hug that Bucky didn’t hesitate to return.

But now wasn’t the time to elbow people out of the way just to squeeze into his arms. The media was already having enough of a frenzy with this national week-long trial in the first place, and they certainly didn’t need to start covering the fate of two tragically star crossed brainwashed super spies. Not for a little while at least.

And for that reason, Clint didn’t see Bucky until that evening. Clint had been waiting for him in their room – because it was their room, had been that way for a long long time – since he had gotten back from the Trial. His was mind racing with all of the possibilities he hadn’t let himself think about until he was sure Bucky was there to stay. He still isn’t sure what he’d do if a third party took him away again. He didn’t want to think about it.

As soon as Bucky stepped onto their floor, Clint was climbing to his feet, his grin wide. Bucky had on the brightest expression he had ever seen on his face, and Clint took that as an invitation to launch himself into Bucky’s arms.

Bucky caught him easily, his metal arm securing itself firmly around his waist, making Clint feel safe enough to completely lean himself into Bucky and pull him down by his neck into a kiss. Bucky responded immediately, his lips parting hungrily, and Clint reached back to pull the band from Bucky’s hair to let his locks loose. His hair fell around their faces in waves and Clint immediately ran his hand through them, grinning into the kiss.

Clint pulled back and looked at him with a big grin that Bucky was matching with his eyes.

“You’re still here,” Clint murmured, hoping that Bucky would understand him, and judging by the way Bucky’s eyes softened as he said it, he knew he did.

“I promised, didn’t I?” he asked quietly, and Clint responded by pulling him into another breath stealing kiss. He felt just like a teenager again, getting so lost into Bucky as he was.

He clung to Bucky as the other man steered him towards their bedroom, Clint stumbling back willingly, his belly igniting with sparks of heat. They had kissed and touched many times before tonight, but the air felt more charged then it had before. More heavy, and he couldn’t help but feel a thrill race down his arms. Clint would’ve been happy if Bucky never touched him again; he just wanted him, in anyway he could have him. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t beyond excited to lay Bucky out completely and totally. And as Bucky’s metal hand came around to grab at his belt, he had a feeling he felt the same.

Clint wanted this, more than anything, but he forced himself to reach out and still Bucky’s metal hand with his own. Bucky immediately froze, his face shutting down minutely, until Clint quickly shook his head and reached his other hand up to cup his cheek.

“No, not about this,” he said, awkwardly gesturing between the small space between them. “I just… I needed you to know, before we… that this doesn’t matter,” Clint said. Bucky furrowed his brows a little bit and Clint huffed. Fuck he had really never got better at this, had he? “I mean that… I… fuck, I love you as you are Buck,” he finally blurted, feeling heat threatening to climb to his face as Bucky’s eyes widened a touch. “I… don’t think I told you last time,” he quickly added on, his heart beating hard in his throat.

If Clint thought Bucky was frozen before, that was nothing compared to how still he became at Clint’s words. Clint was regretting his decision to get gross on Bucky all the way up until Bucky was pulling him in for another kiss, this one somehow sweeter.

“I think I love you too,” Bucky said, his voice just a touched awed against his mouth, and Clint couldn’t help but grin, pressing his forehead to Bucky’s with delight.

“Good, great. Glad we’re on the same page. Now, I’d really like to see what kinda upgrades Tony fitted you with and if any are for me,” Clint said as he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Bucky down to kneels over his thighs by his tie. Bucky raised an unamused eyebrow as he began to undo his cufflinks and Clint could only grin cheekily.

“So charming,” Bucky grumbled, and Clint laughed.

“Well I charmed your frosty ass, so I’ve got to have some kind of skill,” Clint shot back before he gave out a startled moan as Bucky bit down hard against his pulse. Clint arched into it, his fingers clenching on Bucky’s shoulders. “Okay, shut up, I hear you,” Clint breathed, and Bucky chuckled before pushing him down all the way.

The Trial didn’t magically fix everything, nor did the sex. There were still days Clint wasn’t sure if this would really work, if it was worth making it work or if he was deluding himself. There were still days where Bucky couldn’t understand where he was when he woke up and days where he shut himself down so completely, Clint wasn’t sure if he would ever come back.

But when Clint came in a month later to see Bucky sitting on the couch with Lucky watching cartoon reruns of Scooby Doo, Clint knew everything was exactly as it should be, shit and all.

He sat down next to them and let his head rest on Bucky’s shoulder. The other man didn’t turn from the screen, but Clint knew he was paying attention to him all the same.

“How was the debrief?” Bucky asked gruffly, and Clint smiled a little bit, shaking his head.

“Boring, as usual. But, they did say something interesting,” Clint said. Whatever his voice must’ve sounded like was interesting enough that Bucky finally turned away from the screen and back to Clint, his clever eyes dissecting him carefully.

“What was it?” he asked warily, and Clint couldn’t help but surge forward and kiss him. Bucky made a noise of surprise, but kissed him back gently before pulling away. Clint’s grin widened at his confused expression.

“If you ever feel up to it, Steve would like you on our team,” Clint said, and Bucky’s eyes widened, and Clint chuckled. Bucky ran a hand through his hair, looking confused but slightly pleased at the idea. It was no surprise that someone like Bucky would feel useless without work, especially with how much he felt he had to atone for. This would be perfect for him, if he said yes.

“I… they really want me out there?” Bucky asked, sounding incredulous, and Clint couldn’t help but laugh.

“Have you seen you in a fight?” Clint asked, and Bucky rolled his eyes but was smiling a little bit as Clint watched him.

“So, what do ya say? Wanna be an Avenger? We’d be the best power couple; imagine all of couple based Halloween costumes that they’ll make for us,” Clint pressed, fluttering his eyelashes teasingly. Bucky smirked a little at his antics, but his eyes darted away for a second at the same time, a crease of thought appearing on his forehead. There was a second where Clint was sure Bucky was going to refuse, before his expression suddenly cleared and he looked back at Clint, his eyes full of fire.

“Yea-“ he started, but didn’t get a chance to finish as Clint let out a whoop that sent Lucky into a frenzy. Bucky squawked as Lucky kicked off of his legs and took a victory lap around their floor, almost taking Clint out when he passed by again.

Clint noticed Bucky doubling over with laughter at his antics, his long hair curtaining his face as his eyes crinkled handsomely at the edges in a way that made Clint want to kiss him again.

This thing they had sure as hell wouldn’t be easy, but Clint wasn’t asking for easy. He was asking for Bucky, and as Bucky reached forward to pull Clint between his legs, his eyes soft, Clint knew he finally had him.

For good.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's a wrap!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Thanks again to my incredible beta and my artist! If you missed it, you can find her art [here](https://megara-arts.tumblr.com/post/175674230319/)
> 
> Thanks also to the everyone who had a hand in managing and arranging this Big Bang. You guys are incredible!!!
> 
> Interested in screaming about Winterhawk or Stony? hmu on my tumblr! [sakkakitty](https://sakkakitty.tumblr.com/)


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